The Musicians
by Silbrith
Summary: Neal, Peter, and Henry set their sights on a master art thief and his cybercriminal brother. October 2005. Travel: England, Hungary. Fluff: Sara's birthday.
1. Wicked Game

_Notes: This story takes place after the events in Harlequin's Shadow and Night Howls on the Hudson. The first chapter includes a short recap for new readers. I also wrote a short summary of the status of the key players at the beginning of the story for our blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation. The post is called "Prelude to The Musicians." See the notes at the end of the chapter for more information._

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Wicked Game**

 **Henry's Loft. Sunday, October 2, 2005.**

"So much for the vaunted Neal Caffrey charm. I would have had Bianka eating out of my hand weeks ago."

As if to prove his completely fallacious statement, Henry dipped a tortilla chip in cheese sauce and crunched into it with particular gusto.

From his position on the couch, Neal evaluated his options. Attempting to refute the claim would only expose him to more ridicule, but Henry expected him to make the effort. "How am I supposed to make headway with a woman who spent the past week in the hospital?"

Henry faked a look of surprise. "Oh, really? A likely story. If she'd _actually_ been in the hospital, you would have informed me immediately. In any case, a hospital setting presents many opportunities. If you'd only asked, I would have been happy to advise you. Gee, I wonder why you didn't. Did you come down with laryngitis? No, that can't be right. You were able to talk to Peter. Did you suffer partial amnesia and forget you had a relative who happens to be your closest friend?"

"You were in Japan," Neal muttered.

"Japan's not in some galaxy far, far away." He waved his chip in the air. "They have phones, the internet—all the modern conveniences."

"I planned to fill you in when you got back."

"Ah, now we come to the crux of the matter. And you intended to do the same about yourself, no doubt. Unfortunately, there was a high probability you would have been dead by then. Oops." Henry arched his eyebrows at him while brushing a tortilla crumb off his lap.

Henry really needed to get a dog, a companion who could also gobble up his crumbs. "But I didn't die. Christie's run the tests. She's extracted buckets of my blood for verification. You see before you a man certified grade A healthy."

"You need to get a new doctor if that's what she said. How one guy can shed so many pounds in a matter of a couple of weeks escapes me. Have more chips."

Neal pointed to his plate, already piled high with food. "At the rate I'm gorging myself on dip, my days of being a string bean are in the rearview window." He stood up. "Peter will be here soon. We should get started on those patties."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Elizabeth Burke paused at the entrance to the kitchen to observe her husband. Peter was standing at the stovetop, stirring the contents of a saucepan. He was wearing the grilling apron his father Luke had given him when she and Peter got married. Emblazoned on the black background was the motto "The Legend Continues." Luke Burke had taught his son well, inducting him into the secrets of the perfect pancake, the foolproof pickle juice hangover remedy, and the family barbecue sauce.

Peter would leave for Henry's loft in a couple of hours. He'd promised to instruct Henry and Neal in the time-honored tradition of grilling the Burke burger. Much as she would have liked to attend, it may have been for the best that she was scheduled to coordinate a wedding reception. This would be a boys-only affair.

Peter turned to smile at her. "Like a taste?"

"Please." She dipped a spoon in the sauce and gently blew on it first. The spicy sauce was as superb as ever. "You've made it a little hotter than usual."

He nodded at the cayenne powder on the counter. "Henry likes Indian food. I threw in an additional jalapeno and an extra dash of cayenne."

"His taste buds will appreciate it. He's been in Japan and I doubt has had much beef. He'll be ready for carnivore fare." Henry wouldn't be the only one. El had reduced the amount of beef they ate at home. This would be as much a treat for Peter as for the boys.

"Neal called while you were upstairs," Peter said. "He finished the Renoir. I'll bring it home with me. Have you decided on where you'd like it hung?"

"Since it's supposed to be a genuine Renoir, the living room might be a little ostentatious."

"Slightly," Peter agreed, chuckling.

"So it's going in our bedroom, where I'll be able to gaze on the art you salvaged from the Nazi treasure trove just for me."

"Let's hope that's what Rolf believes. When I bring it home, this will start the clock on the op. You feel ready?" He eyed her questioningly. "Last chance to back out. After tonight you'll no longer have the option."

El knew how concerned Peter was about her being involved in the con, but she'd already crossed that bridge last month. For weeks, they'd acted as if Peter was taking advantage of the Bureau to feather his own nest. He'd indulged in his love for sports cars by test-driving Ferraris and Lamborghinis. She was now on a first name basis at the exclusive boutiques in their neighborhood. But pieces from the hoard of Nazi-looted art which Neal and Peter recovered three weeks ago were their ultimate lure.

Peter had convinced the French to hold off releasing the names of two of the masterpieces. Neal had painted a forgery of one of them, a Renoir of Madame Chocquet reading a book. Peter intended to convince Rolf that he'd appropriated the painting for Elizabeth. It was outrageous beyond belief that Peter would actually have committed the crime, but for the high-stakes game they were playing, he felt it was worth the gamble.

Grilling burgers wouldn't be the only discussion topic at Henry's. Last month they'd successfully conned Vincent Adler into believing they'd salvaged a U-boat. The fugitive hedge fund manager and Kate were now sitting in a Paris prison where they'd go on trial later in the month. It was long past time for Rolf and Klaus Mansfeld to face the music as well.

El strode over and kissed him. "You know my answer, hon. Whatever it takes, I'll do it. I've already spoken with Yvonne. We've made contingency plans in case—for _any_ reason—I'm not able to be present for an event."

He nodded, his lips tightening, as he turned down the burner on the stove. "Klaus faked his death a year ago. He and Rolf have been manipulating us ever since. This ends now."

"You think Neal's ready? Only a few days ago, he was flat on his back."

"He claims he feels great. If you'd seen him fence yesterday, you'd agree."

"Henry must have the same concerns."

"I'm sure he does. Neal went over early to fill him in on the events of the past couple of weeks. Henry won't be happy when he sees how much weight he's lost, but Neal's doing his best to regain his strength. Yesterday he was wolfing down protein bars whenever he wasn't fencing." Peter shrugged. "In a perfect world, I'd give Neal weeks before starting this op, but it's for his sake we need to move forward. Now that the art trove has been recovered, there's no reason for Ydrus to delay their plans."

El nodded as she ran through her mental checklist. Mozzie had been at their house yesterday, installing extra surveillance cameras and motion detectors. Agent Tricia Wiese had spent a full day with her last week. Tricia utilized her skills as a profiler to drill her in techniques to use in the event she was abducted. El's community theater was in rehearsals for _Bell, Book, and Candle_ , but her real-life performance was what kept her awake at night. Peter wasn't sleeping well either, although he refused to acknowledge it. Not only for Neal's sake but for theirs too, they needed to bring the Mansfelds to justice.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter knocked on the door to Henry's loft in Lower Manhattan, Henry called out, "The door's open."

The two cousins were arguing in the kitchen when Peter walked in, and, judging from Neal's exasperated expression, Henry must have been laying down the law to him. As they strode forward to greet Peter, Henry said, "Now that Bianka's out of the hospital, there will be no more malingering. I expect results."

Peter smiled to himself. The fact that Henry was teasing Neal about her meant that he believed Neal was sufficiently healthy to handle it.

"Is this the famous Burke barbecue sauce?" asked Neal eagerly, ignoring Henry's joshing.

Peter placed the pot on the stove. "It is, and I brought along two copies of the recipe. Before I hand them over though, you have to promise to never divulge the recipe to anyone outside the family."

"Deal," Neal agreed happily, snatching his copy. Henry gave him a half-smile as he took his copy. The message was clear. There was nothing like sharing family secrets to seal the bonds which united them.

Neal had brought over supplies for a Caesar salad. Henry's contribution was a chocolate cake which he'd bought at the bakery on the corner. Peter suspected that thanks to Henry's sweet tooth, he'd become one of their favorite customers.

Henry stopped at the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of beer. "Chips and cheese sauce are on the cocktail table. We left a little for you. The cheese sauce was made by Eric. He makes it by the quart to have on hand."

Peter took a seat next to Neal and helped himself to a chip. He needed to get the recipe for El. Henry's boyfriend's parents had immigrated from Mexico. This was probably a family recipe, hopefully not a secret one.

Henry flopped in a tan leather swivel armchair and put his feet up on the ottoman. "Eric and I had a celebration last night. His bid to be the architect on a project to build low-cost housing for artists in SoHo was accepted."

"Give him our congratulations," Neal said. "I have several friends in the visual arts department who have heard about the project and can't wait to sign up for an apartment."

"Eric's project works out well for me, too. He was under the clock to finish the submission. Now he'll be working day and night to complete the design on time. Last night was probably the last time we'll get together for a few weeks. We'll have plenty of time to catch up after Klaus and Rolf are behind bars," he added a little defensively as if he realized how it sounded. "This way, no matter what con we pull, I won't have to worry about Eric being caught in the crossfire."

Despite Henry's half-assed explanation, Neal frowned, and Peter was with him. Henry sounded a lot like some probies he'd known. They tried to put their personal lives on hold when in the midst of a dangerous assignment, but it rarely worked out. Couples grew apart. They developed different interests. When one assignment ended, another one began, and before long a permanent split was unavoidable.

The Bureau was aware of the problem and offered workshops for new agents on how to cope with the stress. From the sound of it, Win-Win needed to do the same. Not that Henry would necessarily accept the help. He was as stubborn as Neal. Both of them took the phrase "need to know" to the extreme. Peter had been lucky. By the time he'd met El, he had seen enough of the issues others faced to recognize the danger signs in himself and was able to prevent them from festering. Eric knew nothing about Henry's work with the Bureau, and that was a concern for their relationship moving forward.

Neal was probably feeling smug that he'd kept himself free from romantic entanglements. And since he was pretending to be infatuated with Bianka, that was definitely for the best. Peter shuddered to think what would have happened if Neal were in a serious relationship with someone while conning her. Peter could easily guess how El would have reacted to him being in a similar situation. He'd be sleeping downstairs on the couch every night with Satchmo his only companion . . . if he were lucky. The Lab generally sided with El.

Peter yanked himself out of helicopter dad mode and settled into the part of crew leader. He didn't plan to fire up the grill for at least an hour, so there'd be plenty of time to discuss the main item on the menu—removing the logjam that was disrupting all their lives—Rolf and Klaus Mansfeld.

Last month they'd discovered that Bianka had ties to the international criminal organization Ydrus. They suspected the attractive art student had been planted at Columbia University as a spy. When she began to make a play for Neal's affections, they assumed she was acting under the Mansfelds' orders. Neal had offered to run a con on her, but for the past two weeks, the risky game had been placed on hold while Bianka recuperated. It was fortunate timing since Neal was ill as well.

"Is anyone else puzzled why Rolf hasn't pulled the trigger yet?" Neal asked. "I would have thought they'd put the Vermeer painting in play by now."

When Neal was abducted last July, he'd been subjected to a form of virtual reality brainwashing. Fortunately he'd been rescued before the programming was complete. As a result, Neal remembered the false memories which were meant to be embedded in his subconscious. The team knew that Rolf and Klaus intended to somehow take advantage of the theft of a Vermeer painting to coerce Neal into joining their crew. They believed that the Mansfelds didn't want Neal to quit the Bureau. Instead, they hoped he'd continue studying for his doctorate while working at the FBI. Neal would lead a secret life as an art thief and forger while maintaining the cover of his legitimate activities.

Neal's therapist believed that the false memories were programmed to resurface once the theft of _The Astronomer_ became known. The French were giving them till December to find the missing painting before they'd have to go public about the theft. Neal had painted a forgery of the masterpiece which the French had available in case any inquiries were made about the Vermeer in the interim.

"My hunch is that there's a disagreement at Ydrus," Henry said. "We know Rolf and Klaus are behind the brainwashing, but they're not the ones in charge of Ydrus. Python is."

Peter nodded agreement. "It's possible she's running an additional scheme with Bianka which they want to implement before the Vermeer is used." Although they hadn't identified Python, an antique dealer named Joanna Abbot was the most likely suspect. She'd first been brought to their attention when she was photographed in a London airport with Klaus Mansfeld. Later they discovered the woman was a snake enthusiast. She'd attended a meeting in New York a few weeks ago of the World Herpetological Society which had led to the discovery of her connection to Bianka. Tricia's husband was an anthropologist and had analyzed their facial bone structure. He said there were similarities which hinted of a blood relationship. "The plan was likely put on hold because of Bianka's illness."

"How is she now?" Henry asked.

"I called her yesterday evening," Neal said. "She's still quite weak. The doctors think the cause may be her immune system which appears to be seriously compromised. This illness has her genuinely freaked out. She doesn't know if it's lupus or something else."

Neal looked genuinely concerned. Peter knew he had ambivalent feelings toward Bianka. Outwardly, Neal never voiced any hesitancy about the con, but Tricia had warned Peter to be on the lookout. If Neal felt Bianka was being manipulated or coerced, he would be even more susceptible to whatever scheme Rolf had concocted.

The subject of Peter's concern seemed untroubled by the upcoming issues. "The good news is that Bianka told her doctor I'd come down with a case of mono." He turned to Henry. "When I became ill, that was the excuse I planned to use with her. As it turned out, she was so sick it wasn't necessary, but it will still come in handy."

Henry chuckled. "You're still contagious."

Neal nodded smugly. "Bianka's never had mono. The doctor's worried that if she were to contract the disease, it could be life-threatening."

"That means no kissing, no . . ." Peter waved his hand to finish the thought.

Neal smiled at him. "Definitely none of that. Not that I ever would have. But it was going to get messy. Here I am supposedly infatuated with her but not interested in being intimate? Klaus knows me too well. He would have seen right through it. I intend to play the part of the solicitous, frustrated lover—denying myself the pleasure of sex out of fear of infecting her with the plague I suffered from."

"How long will you be able to milk it?" Henry asked.

"Christie said that after a severe case like I supposedly had, the virus could be active for a month afterward. Plenty of time to con her." Diana's partner was Neal's doctor, an arrangement which was particularly advantageous for times like this when confidentiality was essential.

"Should you still be experiencing symptoms?" Peter asked. He'd had mono as a kid and remembered how sick he'd been.

"Christie said I could have had a brief intense episode and now be okay for duty." Neal smiled as he reached for another chip. "That's essential. Our fencing team has a match with Cornell next weekend. Aidan's already informed me in no uncertain terms that relapsing is not allowed."

Neal's college friends had provided valuable assistance for the con with Bianka. Aidan and Richard were both visual arts students. They also fenced with Neal on the club team. They supplied handy saves whenever Neal needed a timeout from Bianka. Normally Neal was adamant against including any "outsiders" in a con, but Richard and Aidan hardly fit that description. Richard was the partner of White Collar's tech expert Travis Miller and had already assisted the team. Aidan's day job was as a cybersecurity programmer. He'd worked in tandem with Travis to decrypt Rolf Mansfeld's malware.

"What if Ydrus gets their hands on your medical records?" Henry asked.

"I hope they do," Neal said. "Christie amended her official records to give me a case of mono. If anyone should check my blood, they'll find lingering traces of the virus. Once you've had the disease, it never completely goes away."

Henry nodded, apparently satisfied. "You're going to play Bianka's strings like she's a violin."

Neal raised a brow at Henry's oblique reference to the Braque painting, _Violin and Candlestick_ , which Neal had stolen under Klaus's guidance, but didn't argue the point.

Henry didn't stop there. "Peter, you'll con Rolf with the mastery of Eric Clapton."

"I'm fine with the metaphor as long as that's all it is," Peter said, squelching any thoughts of music performances. "The days of my playing guitar in the garage of my parents' house are long gone. Have you picked out a role for yourself?"

Henry smiled. "There's a certain snake that needs attention. When I was in India, I saw snake charmers work their magic with cobras. What would it take to charm a python?"

"Do you have something specific in mind?" Neal asked.

"I'll improvise as I go along."

Peter's inner radar emitted a ding. He was well acquainted with Henry's secret agendas and was determined that there'd be no repetition. Henry had maintained a truce from lone wolf maneuvers during the U-boat con. Did he consider the armistice over now that it was concluded? Peter didn't make an issue of it now, but Henry would eventually have to be more forthcoming.

"To take down Adler, we were pirates," Henry continued, waving a chip in the air. "Peter, that first con was your undergrad degree in larceny. This upcoming one will be your masters."

"As in Masterson Music?" he asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow. Maybe his days of garage bands weren't over after all. Peter considered Henry's words. He hadn't mentioned Masterson Music. Peter had. Why did he have the feeling he was being played? Henry had devised a devious con to take down a corrupt music publisher, keeping everyone else in the dark until it became unavoidable. Now he'd mentioned being a snake charmer and had led Peter to reference Masterson Music. Was this another example of Henry's mind games?

Rather than scoffing at Peter's reference to Masterson Music, Henry embraced it. "Exactly. A music con. Both Klaus and Rolf are pianists. They're into classical music. We're gonna rock their world." Henry passed Peter the basket of tortilla chips. "What troubles you, Peter? Tell me your fears and I'll make them disappear."

Peter kept his growls to himself as he dipped a chip into cheese sauce. Henry was still riding the high from arresting Adler, and he was acting far too cocky. He'd been gone for two weeks. He hadn't seen how close Neal had come to being consumed. Neal was looking at him warily, but that didn't help. The kid had lost too much weight. He managed to fence with his team, but was he strong enough to take on the likes of Klaus and Rolf?

Peter took a breath, gathering his thoughts before answering. "You wanna know the hidden gotchas I'm worried about? Here are a couple. Neal's therapist can't guarantee there won't be a lingering effect once the trigger is pulled." When Neal started to protest, he raised a hand to silence him. "And neither can you. This type of virtual reality mind manipulation is highly experimental. Not only that, the doctor who performed the procedure is still a fugitive. We assume Penfold is hiding out at Ydrus headquarters, wherever that is. What if they decide to use the procedure on someone else? We know they'd built a program to test it on Richard." He turned to lock eyes with Henry. "Next time it could be you. Are you ready for it? We barely rescued Neal in time. Next time we might not be so lucky."

"I hear ya," Henry said quietly. "I've been concerned about that as well."

"The best way to ensure it doesn't happen is to take them down _now_ ," Neal argued. "Give me a chance with Bianka. If I convince her I'm hers, there may not be a need to pull the trigger."

"No harm in a little extra insurance," Henry said. "Rolf must be wondering about you. Your recklessness during the U-boat con could be a sign that the implanted memories are starting to leak through. What will he think if we heighten your symptoms?"

Peter was excited at the direction Henry was going. "You could fake that your back is bothering you again." In the virtual reality program, Neal had been shot in the back. When he was rescued, he believed he could only walk with difficulty, and it took days before he was able to shake off the associated pain from the non-existent wound.

"My acrophobia could also return," Neal suggested, his face lighting up. "I still yearn to climb the spire of Riverside Church. I may not remember Klaus's exact words, but I could have the itch to explore it. The frustration about not being able to climb is a constant irritant."

Peter suspected that Neal wouldn't have to fake the urge. Klaus had told Neal in the virtual program that he'd hidden a gift in a dragon gargoyle high atop the spire of Riverside Church. Neal had admitted how driven he was to climb the spire to see what was there.

"My desire to be a thief could be at war with my work," Neal said, extending his arms on the back of the sofa as he grew more expansive. "I could distance myself from the team, subconsciously remembering that they were my accusers."

"You could even begin to have symptoms of schizophrenia," Henry said. "We could make Klaus panic they'd gone too far. If you wind up a nutcase, you're useless to them," he added bluntly.

"Not only that, but it could lay a heavy guilt trip on Klaus," Peter pointed out. "He thinks of you as a younger brother. Now he'll witness you self-destruct. He'll hardly want to add to the problem. Do you think you could pull it off?"

Neal nodded confidently. "I studied schizophrenia when Diana had my character in Arkham Files worry he was suffering from the disease. I bet Doc Jacob could provide some tips."

"I want to be with you for that discussion," Peter said. "I also have questions for him." Neal's initial acrophobia had been a manifestation of the PTSD he'd suffered after he believed he'd witnessed Klaus's death. If he started faking the symptoms, was he in danger of falling victim to the phobia once more?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal was able to secure an appointment with Jacob for the following afternoon. He was glad Peter was along. When he began incorporating the symptoms, he didn't want Peter to freak out. Confusion, paranoia, withdrawal, and jumpiness would all be key indicators. He intended to only give the occasional troubling hint that something was amiss. He hoped it wouldn't be necessary to act full-blown psychotic.

From his standpoint, the visit with Jacob was a success, but Peter wanted more. His concern was that Penfold would subject Neal to another virtual reality session, and there was little in the way of reassurance that the doctor could provide. Neal didn't expect he could do anything in advance to mitigate its effects, and that was the case. When Jacob said that Neal's previous experience, as well as earlier flashback episodes, made him more susceptible to the technique, Peter's face grew grim. Neal's confident words that he'd simply have to ensure that there were no recurrences were dismissed out of hand.

Neal wasn't worried. After having been the plaything of a goddess, anything else seemed quite manageable.

By the end of the appointment, it was close to the end of the day and Peter dropped him off at Columbia University. The faint strains of an aria from _Don Giovanni_ could be heard as Neal approached his studio door, indicating he'd have company while he painted. Mozzie was sitting at his worktable inside. He was writing something on a yellow legal pad while humming to the music.

"I'll be with you in a minute," he muttered.

Neal hung up his jacket and stripped off his shirt. He kept a supply of t-shirts and old jeans for painting. He could live without his worktable. Mozzie no longer dropped into the loft as often, but recently had grown enamored with the ambiance of his art studio. He claimed sitting among the unfinished paintings helped him strategize.

Neal didn't mind his presence. He wanted to focus on his painting of the Rhone in Geneva.

"There. Finished."

"Finished what?" Neal said absently, more interested in the Rhone.

"Outlining the plot for Yellowface, the Masked Avenger. Hotaru is anxious to receive my script."

Aidan had gotten the welcome news last week that a video he'd made of the adventures of an endangered Hawaiian yellow-faced bee had been picked up by Hotaru, a Japanese anime studio. They intended to produce a cartoon series based on his adventures. Next year the bee would be buzzing into Japanese homes via TV Tokyo, and Aidan would likely be receiving royalties for a long time to come.

The company had also taken a gamble on a novice scriptwriter—Mozzie. They signed him up to devise plots for the first several episodes. Mozzie was fluent in Japanese. No translations would be needed.

"I'll be out of your hair soon," Mozzie added. "Henry's coming over this evening. I'll meet him at Aidan's studio. We're starting the second round of camera work."

Aidan was making a short feature for a cinematography course, and Henry was the lead actor. The film, called _Pirates from Beyond_ , had also been used for the con to take down Vincent Adler. The first scenes were set in a U-boat with Henry, Neal, and Sara the actors. The only live actors for the second part were Henry, El, and Mozzie with the rest to be supplied by CGI.

"Henry warned us he may not be available for long," Mozzie added, snapping his notebook shut. "Until something breaks with the Mansfelds, he's coming here every evening."

"Will El be here as well?"

"She'll start tomorrow." Mozzie made a face. "I should have had her sign an exclusive contract. She's warned me she'll be available for only a couple of hours. Aidan and I have to work around her schedule. She's also in rehearsals for _Bell, Book, and Candle_ with her community theater. That opens at the end of the month."

"It'd be difficult to sign her up for an exclusive since she's acting pro bono," Neal pointed out.

"Not for a master negotiator, but we'll figure something out. As a last resort, I'll hire her for an event." He gave a short snicker. "Only later will she discover that I hired her to rehearse."

"Have you thought about including Eric in the script?"

Mozzie removed his glasses to wipe them with his handkerchief. "There's a role which would be quite suitable, but Henry continues to resist. Eventually, of course, Eric will hear about the project. Henry fails to appreciate that the longer he postpones telling him, the harder it will be. What happens when the film is premiered? Won't Henry want him to be present at the red carpet event?"

Ignoring the remoteness of a student project ever receiving opening-night treatment, Neal gave a shallow sigh—just enough to express displeasure without over-dramatizing the effect. "Henry's making the same mistakes I did. It's too bad he doesn't have the benefit of a mentor to guide him in the course of love."

"Like I did you?" Mozzie stroked his chin thoughtfully "You think he needs my services?"

"No one's as skillful as you at being a love guru," said Neal, ladling out the honey in big dollops.

"It would have to be without his knowledge."

"Of course."

"I'll see what I can do." He zipped his notebook inside his backpack. "Your Mata Hari will be relieved to see me go. She's probably keeping a close watch on the door. She dropped in a half hour before you arrived. I told her she wouldn't have long to wait. We had a pleasant chat."

"I'm sure you did," Neal said, removing Mozzie's CD from the player. "Did she ask you about your courses?" Bianka had met Mozzie. He'd introduced himself as Norman Latsky and told her he was enrolled in the film program. They assumed Bianka knew who he really was. Mozzie liked to think Rolf was salivating at the prospect of him joining Neal to work for Ydrus.

Mozzie nodded. "She tried to view my notes, but her knowledge of Japanese appears quite limited. I told a bawdy joke that if she'd understood would have had her rolling on the floor. Will you need a save?"

"That won't be necessary. Christie's provided one."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Mozzie's prediction proved accurate. Less than two minutes after he left, Bianka knocked on Neal's door, inviting him to her studio.

"There'll be less chance of us being disturbed," she said. "Your friends seem to drop in all the time, and my studio's much more comfortable." Bianka had equipped it with several puffy floor cushions.

Soon they were sprawled on the corduroy pillows, bemoaning the restrictions imposed on them by their doctors while Neal held her in his arms.

"A month seems like forever," Bianka moaned, leaning against his chest. "How will we survive?"

He played with her shoulder-length blonde hair. "We can fantasize about the celebration when the quarantine is lifted."

She snuggled deeper. "You're worth the wait."

He leaned down as if to kiss her then clamped a hand over his mouth with a groan. "I'm going to have to wear a mask to remind myself. This will be torture."

"You need to focus on getting your strength back." She smiled impishly. "You'll need it once that month is over. And, looking on the bright side, we can still see each other."

"You can help me on my next workshop." In lieu of teacher assistant duties, Neal was conducting a series of workshops on the painting techniques of old masters. Bianka might be working for the enemy, but her knowledge of the old masters was rock-solid, and she appeared genuinely enthusiastic about the workshops. "I've selected one of the Italian Baroque artists."

"Sherkov will appreciate you selecting someone from his course. Who did you pick?"

He leaned back and studied her a moment. "Gentileschi comes to mind. Should I focus on _Sleeping Venus_?" His choice was one Bianka should like. Artemisia Gentileschi was the foremost female artist of the seventeenth century and a master of classical realism, a technique Bianka also excelled at. The overt eroticism of the painting where Venus appeared to be basking in afterglow should also appeal to her.

She slid her hand underneath his t-shirt. "If I were conducting a workshop, I'd select Caravaggio. You remind me of his painting of St. John the Baptist—the one where he's depicted as a young sensual man. His lack of clothes makes him a worthy partner to Gentileschi's Venus, although he's not as handsome as you. You would have to be my model."

"I'll be thinking of you when I paint the Venus."

"Why merely think about it? Let's do it! We should draw each other in their poses. Simply because we can't kiss doesn't mean we have to deny ourselves every pleasure."

* * *

 _Notes: Thanks for reading! Next week in Chapter 2: Postcards, Neal and Bianka have that modeling session, and Neal receives a long-awaited special delivery. The Musicians has 9 chapters which I'll post weekly on Wednesday._

 _Special thanks to Penna for sprinkling her beta magic on this story!_

 _If you'd like to see photos of the cast members and other visuals, visit The Musicians board at our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site_ _where Penna and I pin illustrations for our stories. I'll update the board with additional pins when I post a new chapter. This week's pins include cast members, locations, and the paintings mentioned in this chapter._

 _Penna and I share a blog, called Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_, _where we post about our stories and adventures in writing. We also have summaries for all the stories we've written. FanFiction doesn't allow links in notes, but I've added links to both our blog and our Pinterest site in my profile._

 ** _Background on Caffrey Conversation for new readers_** _: The series was created by Penna Nomen and begins with her story Caffrey Conversation. Our blog has a list and short summaries for all the stories in chronological order. The primary difference from canon in that Neal was never sent to prison and the characters are several years younger. The personalities of canon characters are the same._

 _Peter recruited Neal in 2003 when he was 24. In the fall of 2004 he entered Columbia University's graduate program in art as a part-time student. In the spring of 2005 Peter and Neal were appointed to the Interpol art crimes task force. The work on the task force is part time and places additional emphasis on art crimes for the White Collar team._ _In canon, Neal's only relatives to be mentioned are his father and mother. In ours, his mother Meredith has a twin sister named Noelle who is a psychologist. Noelle married Peter's older brother Joe during the 2004 Christmas holidays. Henry Winslow is Noelle's son and nearly three years older than Neal. He works at a private investigation and security company named Winston-Winslow (usually referred to as Win-Win). Neal has one other cousin, Angela, who is the daughter of Noelle and Meredith's deceased brother. Working with the White Collar team are two non-canon characters: Travis Miller, a technical expert, and Tricia Wiese, a profiler. Neal's friends at Columbia include fellow grad students Richard and Aidan. Pins for the entire cast and locations are on our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site._

 _Disclaimers:_ _White Collar and its characters are not mine._ _Any reference to a real institution, person, or location is not necessarily true or accurate._


	2. Postcards

**Chapter 2: Postcards**

 **Federal Building. Tuesday, October 4, 2005.**

When Henry exited the elevator on the White Collar floor, he headed straight for Neal's niche in the lab. Neal had left a message earlier in the day that Travis had a present waiting for him. Travis was White Collar's tech expert. Any present would likely involve electronic wizardry.

Not only were Neal and Travis in the lab but the rest of the team as well. Peter, Jones, Neal, and Diana were gathered around a worktable, looking at Travis like he was Bill Nye the Science Guy. Henry rolled over a spare chair and prepared himself to be amazed. "Is this going to be a gift exchange? Neal didn't give me time to buy anything for you."

"You're going to use this baby to bring me my gifts," Travis said with a smile. He held up a BlackBerry. "I have one of these for each of you."

Not to insult the guy—Travis was a good friend—but Henry wasn't impressed. The 8700 series was the latest BlackBerry product. Win-Win had issued them to its employees a month ago. Neal had mentioned the FBI was beginning to distribute them as well.

Neal was sitting back with a half-smile on his face. His art authentication niche was next to Travis's workstation. Did he know of secret goodies hidden inside the package?

"One of the key challenges we face with Ydrus," Travis said, "is our inability to pinpoint their headquarters."

Pinpoint? They didn't even know what hemisphere it was in.

"Interpol speculates that they started in Eastern Europe," Peter confirmed, "but there's no indication they're still there."

"And our efforts to track cell phone transmissions have been fruitless," Jones added. "Even though we knew Kramer was the informant we were never able to trace calls back to the source."

Henry had talked with his grandfather's wife Julia about the issue. She was an expert on data mining and had introduced him to the cellular facts of life. In theory, each cell phone was capable of being tracked, but the immensity of data combined with router firewalls made success a rare achievement.

"It's not unlike the effort to detect sentient life in the universe," Travis said, "and that's what gave me the idea for this."

"You mean your work on the SETI committee is finally bearing fruit?" Diana asked, a sarcastic smile on her face. "Or is this a sneaky way to finagle our help on the search for extraterrestrial life? Don't tell me we'll all walk around with antennas on our heads."

While the others snickered, Peter raised a cautionary hand. "Before you start writing a new series of stories about White Collar in Outer Space, let Travis finish."

"Actually that's one series where I wouldn't mind a speaking part," Travis said, arching his eyebrows in a credible imitation of Mr. Spock.

It hadn't escaped Henry's attention that although Travis was a character in the Arkham Files stories, he'd yet to utter a word. It had teasing potential once Henry acknowledged that he read the adventures, but that secret was still in the closet.

"With this gadget, you may think you've achieved futuristic abilities," Travis continued. "It captures the signature of any cell phone within fifteen feet. The distance can be adjusted. If you're in a public area such as a restaurant with multiple phones, you may wish to restrict the distance. Although the keyboard and display appear to be a standard BlackBerry, their functionality is quite different."

Neal studied the one in his hand. "What do you mean by signature?"

Travis pursed his lips for a moment. He was probably trying to dumb down the explanation to their level. "Each phone has a unique identifier code, somewhat analogous to a chemical element. Spectral analysis allows us to identify chemical elements in space. Similarly, once we've identified a cell phone signature, we can perform data analysis to identify its location."

"We've already been able to use GPS," Jones pointed out, "but it has limited ability."

"We've been stymied by all the background noise," Travis confirmed.

"Like background radiation in outer space," Peter said. "That's the SETI connection you referenced."

"Exactly. Julia Winslow would be happy to explain in detail the technical challenges, but the basic problem is that there's too much background noise. I've discovered a way to cut through it. It works on the principle of the power of two." He turned to Neal. "If I use this device to capture the signature on your phone and then duplicate the procedure on Peter's phone, I'll be able to identify the locations for the two of you anywhere in the world."

"Or, more to the point," Henry said, "if Neal uses it on Bianka's phone, and we're then able to obtain the signature of another Ydrus agent, such as the woman she's friends with—"

"—and that person called her from Ydrus headquarters," Neal said, interrupting him, "we'll be able to determine its location."

"That's right," Travis said. "Neal, next time you see Bianka, carry this in your pocket. You won't have to do anything. As long as her phone is on, the sig-zapper will capture her code." He turned to the others. "We haven't been able to bug her apartment because of the detector she's using. Since this signal mimics a cell phone, it won't trigger an alarm."

"We'll still need to identify a second phone," Jones cautioned.

"He had to leave something for us to do," Neal said, smiling. "Among the known players we have Rolf, Klaus, Python, Marta Kolar, and her husband Jacek."

Marta and Jacek were the Mansfelds' tech team. Marta had escaped from prison last month. Jacek's location hadn't been reported on since the beginning of the year. Henry decided to toss his personal choice into the ring. "Python could be our best candidate. We found her before through her interest in snakes. We may be able to trap her that way again. My team at Win-Win is scouring the planet for suitable venues which may pique her interest."

"More likely Rolf or Klaus will contact Neal or me," Peter said. "That should happen once mention is made of the Vermeer painting. We know the Mansfelds value Neal's university connections. With Kramer out of the picture, they no longer have a mole at the Bureau. They may hope to have me replace him. My gut's telling me it won't be long for us to hear from one of them." He nodded with satisfaction, holding up the sig-zapper. "With this in our arsenal, we'll be ready."

Before Henry left, he asked Neal if he was seeing Bianka that evening.

He shook his head. "Aidan's called fencing practice since we're competing this weekend. Wednesday I'll spend all day at Columbia. My next date with Bianka is Thursday evening."

"Will you need a rescue call?"

"It shouldn't be necessary. We'll be working on art."

What was with Neal? That smile he quirked was a signal that not all was what it seemed. Did it have something to do with the fencing or Bianka? Was there some inside joke at play? Neal was called away before Henry could question him further, but Henry tabled the remark for further research.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal had been sorely tempted to tease Henry that he was seeing Alicia that night, but Henry knew he wouldn't engage in casual dating in the midst of an undercover op. Henry would suspect something far more nefarious and launch himself into Shawn, the Superhero Protector of the Family in the wink of an eye. So Neal spiced up Henry's speculation with reference to the projected modeling session with Bianka. No lies. He simply blew a little mysterious smoke.

Aidan had called fencing practice but it wasn't for tonight. And Neal was seeing Alicia, but this was no casual date. Today was Sara's birthday, and this evening they'd celebrate it in style even though they'd have to wear wigs. He'd made reservations at a Thai restaurant which had recently opened on the Upper West Side. It was one they'd discovered together, and Chiang Mai Garden had quickly ridden to the top of her list of favorite restaurants.

At the end of dinner, they returned to her apartment. Sara paused, key in hand, before unlocking the door. "I hope you don't have to rush off. Bianka's not expecting you, is she?"

He arched his eyebrows in horror at the notion. "See another woman on your birthday? Impossible. I have the lights set in the loft and am all yours. The one restriction is that tomorrow I'll need to be seen leaving from June's for Columbia."

She nodded her understanding. Neal was working on the assumption that he was being monitored. Whenever he came over to see her, he left from campus in disguise, wearing a dark blond wig. It was streaked with highlights which made him look like a surfer dude. She also wore a blonde curly-haired mop of a wig whenever they went out.

He slapped a mocking smile on his face. "So, are you going to let me in or did you decide you've had enough of me?"

Sara opened the door wide. "The evening 's just getting started," she said in a sultry whisper.

When they parted to catch their breath, he said. "I do have one request."

"What's that?"

"Much as I like your blonde wig, I'd rather see you looking like yourself."

"I'll have it off in a jiff, if you'll do the same."

His wig was off before they entered her bedroom. Neal stood beside her while she fluffed out her hair. "Much better," he said approvingly and reached into his jacket pocket. "I didn't want to give your gift to Alicia."

"I thought dinner was my present."

He frowned. "That was just the warm-up." He handed her a small pouch fashioned from scarlet velvet with gold drawstring cords.

Sara opened the pouch and pulled out a gold chain. Dangling from it was a stylized bird in gold wrapped around a faceted fiery-red gem. "It's stunning!" she exclaimed, holding it up to the light.

Not as much as she was. He hoped he could always make her eyes sparkle like they were now. "In Diana's stories, I call you a mockingbird. I thought you'd like a remembrance of our Arkham adventures."

After a timeout sufficiently long for her to express her thanks with her lips and Neal to respond with equal ardor, Sara asked, "Where did you find such an unusual design?"

"I cast it myself," he said.

"You make jewelry? And you've been hiding it from me?"

"Not anymore! This pendant comes with a secret from my closet. Klaus taught me how to cast gold. He had me practice by forging ancient Egyptian rings. It's a skill that I now use for the Bureau. But this isn't a forgery," he hastened to add. "I wanted you to have something I'd designed."

She scrutinized the bird closer. There was a hint of Egyptian detailing in the incised lines of the wings even though the design was contemporary. The color of the stone was as deep red as a ruby but there were a subtle orange cast.

"The stone's an imperial topaz," Neal said. "I couldn't afford a ruby and I wanted it to be genuine. We're no longer in the fake friend zone. That includes no fake stones."

Sara took his hand and placed it on her heart. He did the same with her hand. Then there was the trifling matter of clothes. But they were easily cast aside.

Sometime later, they propped themselves up on pillows. Sara was snuggled in the crook of his arm. "I wish we could continue seeing each other," she said, drawing lazy circles with her finger on his chest.

"I do too," he said, playing with her hair, "but starting tomorrow, I'll have to live the symptoms of burgeoning schizophrenia twenty-four seven. I don't want you to have to witness my descent into paranoia."

"Have you warned the team?"

He nodded. "I've already begun adding some of the physical signs."

"I noticed the hitch in your walk. It was so slight, many wouldn't have noticed."

"That's from the gun wound I received in the virtual reality program. The symptoms need to become second nature." This would be their last date till the op was concluded. As if he needed more motivation to get the Mansfelds out of his life.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal didn't tell Sara about his upcoming session with Bianka. It wasn't unusual for art students to model for each other since hiring a professional was expensive. But what were the odds Bianka would be satisfied with merely drawing him? And he'd have to pretend to be equally amorous. He estimated there was a small chance it was a bluff. Did she suspect he was conning her and want to put it to the test? He couldn't picture Bianka being that devious, but it was the sort of maneuver Rolf would have had no qualms about implementing.

Neal was able to escape his day of classes without incident. Professor Myra Stockman dropped in to discuss his paintings in the evening, giving him an unexpected save from playing the flirtation game. After she left, Neal told Bianka he was heading home to rest. Her sympathy was understandable. Bianka was no stranger to the intense cross-examinations Myra conducted with her students. But Neal detected a hint of relief in her expression as well. It made him suspect she was as eager as him to draw the con to an end.

When he awoke the next morning, Neal wondered if there hadn't been an additional reason for Bianka's relief. During the night, someone had slipped an envelope under his patio door. Had Bianka paid him a late-night call?

He didn't attempt to open the envelope, but his adrenaline went into overdrive. It might look like an ordinary white envelope with his name typed on it, but he saw a gun with a pulled trigger.

The envelope was fairly thick, appearing to contain multiple sheets of paper of varying sizes, and Neal already knew there'd be a photo of a certain artwork inside.

Before leaving for the office, he called Peter. By the time he arrived at work, the team was already assembled in the lab, ready to ferret out every bit of intel. Neal had worn gloves to pick up the envelope. The only prints on it would likely have been left by his enemies. Jones and Diana took charge of the envelope while Travis claimed ownership of the feeds from the multiple surveillance cameras which were installed both outside and inside the loft.

"We're reaping the benefits of Mozzie's paranoia," Peter remarked.

"I've already thanked him," Neal said. "Let's hope the cams captured the messenger."

Mozzie had installed additional surveillance equipment at June's mansion in May after Bryan McKenzie attempted to poison Neal. Recently, he'd performed the same service for Peter, Jones, Diana, Travis, and Henry. No one was taking the Ydrus threat lightly.

"No fingerprints on the envelope," Diana announced. "Disappointing but not a surprise."

"We'll test the seal for DNA residue," Jones added. "We may get a lucky break." He carefully slit the top of the envelope and one by one extracted a series of clippings with a pair of tweezers. Travis stopped his work to observe the proceedings.

The first item Jones pulled out was a photo of a painting. Neal recognized it at once. "That's _The Fortune Teller_ by Caravaggio. May I?" Jones handed him the tweezers and Neal examined the back of the image. "It looks like it was cut out from a catalog, possibly one of the Louvre's."

Peter studied the image. "We discussed this painting during our visit there. You and El were teasing me about it."

Neal nodded, not saying anything. That was the same trip they'd tried to see _The Astronomer_ only to discover it was not being exhibited. They later learned that it had been stolen from the Louvre's off-site storage facility, possibly during the same week. Ydrus, perhaps Klaus himself at times, must have been monitoring him throughout his visit to Paris.

Jones extracted the next sheet of paper and unfolded it to reveal an article about _The Astronomer_ which had been published in a French fine arts journal. Accompanying the article was a photo of the painting.

The trigger had finally been pulled. Did he feel anything different?

Diana gave him a sharp look. "Are you seeing any of those fake memories? Don't you dare conceal anything."

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Just relief that they finally played it."

The only other item in the envelope was a newspaper clipping. The article was from _The New York Times_ , dated November 14, 2004. It was a report of the theft of a piece of jewelry from the Smithsonian's collection—Marie Antoinette's diamond earrings. Adler had taken advantage of the theft and attempted to have Neal framed for the crime.

The message was blaring loud and clear for everyone to hear. It had happened before. It was about to happen again.

Bianka was confirmed to be the messenger. One of the cameras had caught a dark hooded figure climbing over the wall and crossing the terrace. Her face was in the shadows and unidentifiable. But she hadn't worn a mask. And the feed from another camera mounted inside the patio door had captured her when she knelt down to slide the envelope under the door.

It was the first concrete evidence they had of Bianka's involvement with Ydrus. The moment seemed anticlimactic. They'd known of her complicity since August. It made Neal more curious than ever about her connection to Ydrus. Was she Python's sister? How much did she know about Ydrus?

Jones broke into his thoughts. "You know what this means. Heightened security protocol starts immediately." Peter had assigned Jones and Diana the task of designing the measures and they'd all been briefed. For Neal and Peter, it meant every time they left a location, they were to report in. Their itineraries for all trips were to be communicated to Travis's team. Neal, Henry, and Peter had GPS watches with recording capability. Their cell phones had also been reconfigured. Whenever Neal was with Bianka, he'd need to transmit an hourly safe signal.

"I already called Henry," Neal said. "I assumed _The Astronomer_ would be in the envelope. I'll give him the full report when we're done here."

"How about June?" Diana asked.

"She's currently visiting her daughter. She plans to be gone for a week."

"You should call her and alert her of the situation," Peter said. "Where does her daughter live?"

"In Chicago."

"Good. She should stay there until we give the all clear signal." Peter surveyed the group. "I don't expect we'll need these measures for long. Now that the trigger's been fired, it won't be long before the next move is made, particularly since Neal is showing physical symptoms. Diana, Jones, Travis—you know the risks. If you feel extra protection is warranted for yourselves or those you care about, don't hesitate to speak up."

"I'd like to discuss it with Richard and Aidan," Travis said. "Richard was targeted earlier. He could be again. In Aidan's case, his skill as an expert programmer is no secret. Rolf could have designs on him as well."

Peter nodded agreement. "Do it."

The assumption was that the next step would be for Rolf and Klaus to contact Neal, possibly through Bianka or in another anonymous message. _Warning from a friend—the FBI is coming for you. I can protect you._

In Neal's view, it couldn't come too soon.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"You wanted to see me?"

When Travis appeared at the doorway, Peter had the tech expert close the door behind him. "You must know what it's about."

Travis nodded, taking a seat. "What can I do to help?"

"Watch for any unusual behavior. Doc Jacob identified several signs to watch out for." Peter passed him the list. "Neal could appear less engaged. He may seem stressed or jumpy."

Travis winced. "Isn't that natural under the circumstances?"

"It'll be a difficult call," Peter acknowledged. Although Jacob was confident Neal had recovered from the brainwashing, he couldn't guarantee there wouldn't be any effects from the trigger having been played. The virtual-reality program Neal had been subjected to was highly experimental, and there was very little known about repercussions. "What concerns me the most is if Neal's perceptions change."

"If he starts viewing us as the enemy and the Mansfelds as his protectors?"

"Exactly. You weren't mentioned in the virtual reality program. Diana, Jones, and Hughes are most likely the ones who Neal could view as hostiles. I'm not telling you anything Neal doesn't know. He's promised to keep me posted, but if it's happening subconsciously, he won't be aware of it."

Travis's lips were set in a hard line. "Neal's faking symptoms now. If he experiences the real thing, how will that factor in?"

"I don't know," Peter admitted, "and it's a big concern."

Bianka's movements would be tracked even more carefully from here on out, but they couldn't blanket her with surveillance without alerting the opposition. Inevitably there would still be opportunities for Ydrus to make the next move.

Peter had yet to find a good solution when Neal dropped by later in the day.

"Will you see Bianka tonight?" Peter asked, motioning him to take a seat.

Neal nodded. "We'd already decided to meet. Now it's even more essential."

"Do you have anything planned?"

"We're going to sketch each other."

Peter took a breath. "That doesn't sound so bad—" he stopped when Neal gave him a sly smile "—you'll be wearing clothes, right?"

Neal shrugged. "For artists, nude modeling is not unusual."

"Not even when she's making a play for you?"

He winced. "I admit, there will be extra challenges involved. I think I have a solution. I'll let you know tomorrow."

"Man, are you lucky you don't have a girlfriend or wife."

"Tell me about it. This is one of those work-related secrets which should never be shared."

"Just so you know, I'm putting you down for van duty tomorrow night."

"Not necessary. Keiko volunteered to let me have the evening off."

"You've got Aidan's girlfriend as a member of your support team as well?"

Neal nodded. "She's particularly effective. Shy, sweet Keiko couldn't possibly be involved in anything devious. As a fellow foreign student, Keiko had befriended Bianka before we knew who she was. Her studio is only a couple of doors down from Bianka's. That's paying off now. Keiko invited her to attend an art gallery exhibition with her since Aidan's tied up working on Henry's movie."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Bianka greeted Neal at the door to her apartment wearing a loosely draped short maroon kimono and barefoot, the faint hope that the modeling session was a bluff evaporated.

Bianka lived in university housing. Her tiny studio had room for a bed, a couch, a desk, and not much else. The simple furniture had been supplied by the university. She'd picked up a few pieces at thrift stores.

"Ignore the furnishings. Pretend you're in an Italian palazzo," she said, leading him into the room. She'd placed floor lamps in several locations to spotlight the bed which was draped in an ocean-blue sheet.

"Shall we speak Italian?" he asked her mockingly in Italian.

"I wish!" Bianka said in English. "My Italian is not as good as yours."

"Would you like to learn? It's the language of d'amore."

She stroked his cheek. "I'd love to. Perhaps someday we can live in Italy." She'd opened a bottle of Barolo and had two glasses on the table. "For now we'll have to pretend. Music will help. We're being inspired by the Italian Baroque masters. I thought Monteverdi's _L'Orfeo_ would be appropriate."

The Baroque opera was about the descent of Orpheus to Hades and his search for his dead bride Eurydice. What was Bianka implying by the selection? Was she beginning to have doubts about her role?

Neal adopted a neutral wait-and-see approach. "Excellent choice. I'll pour us some wine." He surreptitiously observed her as she inserted the CD into the player. Her hand trembled slightly. The action was one of the most difficult moves to make natural. Neal was willing to bet it wasn't fake. A couple of months ago when she first came on to him, her actions had been awkward. She'd improved since then, but she wasn't a seasoned con artist. And right now, she was uncomfortable. Was she concerned about what he might try?

Neal was careful to not reveal he'd noticed anything. "I brought along printouts of some of Gentileschi's works. Do you still want to portray Venus? We could pick another painting."

"No, I love your choice. I've already been practicing. I chose the blue sheet on the bed to approximate the color of the backdrop in the painting."

He handed Bianka a glass of the wine and she raised it to him. "Afterward, I'll draw you as Saint John, but I'd much rather think of you as Orpheus coming to rescue me."

He clinked glasses with her. "While you sketch me, I'll think of you as my Eurydice. Have you had much experience drawing nudes?"

They sat on the couch, drinking wine and discussing their previous experiences as models. Neal had only been a model for Kate, but Bianka had modeled often during her art classes as an undergrad in Budapest. That answered one question. Her nerves weren't about being nude in front of him but what he might do to her.

"It paid good money," she said, "and at university, I was always looking for ways to pay the bills."

Neal sympathized with how she felt. He'd almost given up on his hope of attending Columbia until Win-Win provided a scholarship.

"How were you able to afford Columbia?" he asked.

Unaccountably Bianka blushed. "I received a scholarship from a wealthy Hungarian alumnus."

His question had caught her off guard, and her reaction was another indication she was a newbie at the game.

When she excused herself to prepare in the bathroom, Neal got out his sketchpad from his backpack. Earlier, he'd debated how much he should come on to her during the session. After witnessing her jitters, he opted against making any moves.

"I'm ready." Bianka stood in the doorway, framed from behind by the bathroom light. Her skin appeared translucent. She was Venus come to life.

"I'd love to draw you standing as you are," he said in all honesty.

"Perhaps another time," she said, her Hungarian accent sounding particularly silky. She no longer appeared as nervous. He wondered if she'd taken something or perhaps the wine had succeeded in relaxing her.

Gentileschi had posed Venus with her head reclining on a pillow and her legs twisted to one side. As Neal helped her get into position, he pictured Bianka as someone's sister. She probably had a boyfriend in Budapest. She was purely a model, nothing more. All hormones were relegated to dreaming about Sara. They were _not_ invited to the modeling session.

"This seems rather unfair," she said, a pout on her lips. "I'm nude, and you're dressed. Shouldn't you at least remove your shirt?"

He raised a brow. "Only my shirt?"

She smiled mischievously. "For now."

He'd come prepared and had worn a navy Henley pullover. When he stripped it off, she studied his torso. "On second thought . . ."

He smiled and hovered his hand over his fly.

"No, you better not," she said with a laugh, waiting till the last possible moment. "I'd be so distracted, I wouldn't be able to lie still."

As she continued to joke, she became more at ease. He lost himself in drawing. The music played in the background, and she grew silent. After a suitable length of time, he stood up and stretched his back, wincing a little.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Just a little tired."

"It's the aftereffects of mono. You shouldn't push yourself."

"I'll splash a little water on my face and be fine." As he walked to the bathroom he limped, increasing the degree of severity from his previous performances.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"And Bianka didn't say anything about your limp?" Peter asked.

"Not a word." Neal handed him a mug of coffee and took a sip of the FBI swill du jour. As soon as he arrived at work, Peter had called him to his office for a detailed account.

"She may have thought you were simply tired. After all, you're supposed to be recovering from a severe illness."

"She noticed, all right. She's probably already reported it to her puppetmasters, wherever they are. The modeling went surprisingly well. There was some awkwardness at first, but once we got into drawing, both of us stuck to being professional. There weren't the sexual innuendos you might expect. Despite whatever else she is, Bianka's interest in art is genuine. I'm sure of it."

Peter nodded but didn't look convinced.

"Bianka was initially nervous. I bet she's as relieved as I am to have a medical excuse. After our session, I lingered to talk but pretended to doze off. She sent me home to rest."

Peter eyed him skeptically. "You feel sorry for her."

"Yeah, I do, particularly because of the pose."

When a knock sounded on his door, Peter looked up. "It's Jones. I'll ask him to come back later."

"No reason to. You've already heard the full report."

Peter hesitated then agreed. Neal knew he'd been uncomfortable about what had happened. He was too, but he had to be honest about his take on Bianka's behavior.

"Diana and I've been brainstorming additional security measures to take," Jones said. "We've got a recommendation that could provide not only an extra layer of protection but also new opportunities."

"Go ahead and call Diana in," Peter said. "The conference room's free. We'll meet there."

Diana led off the discussion. "We can't claim ownership of the idea. It's something Tricia dreamed up when we were reviewing the plot of my next Arkham Files story." Agent Tricia Wiese used to be Peter's second-in-command. She'd transferred to the Behavior Analysis Unit nine months ago and was one of the Bureau's top profilers. She'd been working with them on the Mansfeld case from the beginning.

"But you could just as easily say it was Rolf who gave us the idea," Jones added. "He and Klaus have both relied on disguises and false identities. They've had doubles take their place. It's time for us to do the same. We've already experimented with the technique when Richard made up Sara to resemble Kate last month. Now the need is even more critical."

Their idea was a sound one, and Neal saw potential beyond the immediate application. But would the parties agree to it? Richard was on board, but he wasn't the one who'd be difficult to convince.

* * *

 _Notes: Next week as Neal continues to ramp up his symptoms, a new player arrives on stage. Meanwhile, Henry's efforts to locate Python lead him to plan a trip, and Angela decides it's time to take action to help a certain cousin in her life._

 _Travis's electronic wizardry was spotlighted in this chapter as well as his friendship with Neal. I introduced the taciturn geek in The Woman in Blue, and his role has been increasing ever since. He usually shies away from publicity but I coaxed him into allowing me to write about him for the blog this week. The post is:"Caffrey Conversation's Travis Miller." Penna also wrote about very important members of the supporting cast. Find out why they're so special in her post: "The Animals of Caffrey Conversation."_

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Musicians board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	3. On the Edge

**Chapter 3: On the Edge**

 **New York City. Friday, October 7, 2005.**

Friday evening wouldn't be a date night with Sara, but Neal was still able to take a break from the con. Keiko had invited Bianka to go to an art exhibition with her, leaving Neal free to join Aidan and Henry for pizza. The two of them had rearranged their work schedule to spend the afternoon filming scenes for _Pirates from Beyond_ in Aidan's temporary soundstage in Pupin Hall. He'd converted an empty classroom into a set for green-screen filming. His studio was only a few doors down the hall, which facilitated transporting his gear.

Mozzie's script started with a World War II adventure and ended up on a distant planet. The off-world components were the only ones remaining to be filmed. Neal and Sara had already finished their part, having been sent back to Earth by the friendly aliens. Henry's destiny was far more glamorous. He would be endowed with superpowers and return to Earth as a crime-fighting emissary of the aliens. It was a fitting role for a man who'd been given a secret superhero identity by Angela when they were kids.

The pizza had already been delivered from the local Flying Saucer pizzeria when Neal arrived. Aidan kept a mini-fridge in his studio stocked with beer and sparkling water. Just like at work, Neal's date the previous evening was the hot topic of conversation. There was nothing like modeling in the nude to capture someone's attention.

"You were copying the pose of an Italian Baroque artist," Aidan said, helping himself to a slice of pizza. "John the Baptist as I recall."

"Presumably not after you were decapitated," Henry said.

"Bianka was probably too busy focusing on something else to pay much attention to his neck," Aidan said, giving Neal a knowing look. "I've seen that painting."

Henry stared at him. "You weren't posing like Michelangelo's David, I hope?" He turned to Aidan before Neal had a chance to respond. "Let me see a picture of that painting."

"My junk was draped in a cloth," Neal pointed out. "The pose was less revealing than if I'd worn a Speedo."

"Yeah but Bianka's cloth was non-existent," Aidan retorted. "That Gentileschi didn't leave anything to the imagination." He swiveled the display for Henry to view the images.

Neal shrugged. "I gave her every opportunity to opt out, but she insisted. Bianka had posed for art classes in Hungary. In the end, we wound up in a much better place. It's hard to describe"—he chuckled ruefully—"bonding through nakedness?" He twisted the cap off a bottle of sparkling water and helped himself to a slice of a new variety of pizza—poison ivy. Made with spinach, goat cheese, and pesto, the name called to him. Sara feared Bianka was a black widow spider. He suspected poison ivy was more her style. "How did the filming go?"

"Good," Aidan said between bites. "Next week I'll work with Elizabeth and Mozzie."

"Won't they be in the same scenes?"

"Yeah, but I'm filming them separately. Good thing, since Henry won't be here next week."

"Where are you going?" Neal asked.

"Win-Win's negotiating with the Brits for them to use our facial recognition software at their airports. I'll be gone for the week."

Neal suspected there was more to it than facial software. "Do you have any other activities planned?"

Henry shrugged. "We found a lead on a series of workshops being given by the Royal Herpetological Society at the Chester Zoo." He reached for another slice of pizza. "There's one scheduled in python husbandry."

Aidan broke into a grin. "You think your mysterious Python will be there."

"This better not be a wild mongoose chase," Henry said. "Travis told us you'd helped on the development of the sig-zapper, Aidan. I can't wait to test it on her."

"I've already captured Bianka's signature," Neal said.

Aidan rolled his eyes. "You two and your fatal attractions . . ."

Neal huffed. "Let's hope it doesn't go that far. We can't wait to resume our normal lives."

"And loves?" Aidan asked, raising a brow. "The only scene remaining for Henry to film is a romantic moment. It's a small part, perfect for Eric, but who knows if I'll be able to use him or have to recruit someone else."

"Don't look at me like that," Henry growled. "I've already told you I can't count on being free for any filming after today."

"I need to have all the footage shot by the first week in November in order to have the film ready by the end of the semester," Aidan warned.

"Then you might as well write out his part," Henry said stubbornly. "Eric's leaving in late October for Guatemala. He'll be gone a week. There won't be time."

"Vacation?" Aidan asked.

"Of a sort. He goes down to Central America annually to help build houses in poor villages. We'll pick up when he gets back."

Neal stayed out of it. He knew there was no point in arguing with Henry when he had that mule-headed look on his face. Neal had asked Mozzie to include the scene for Eric and he held out hope it would work out. Now that the trigger had been played, there was a chance they could have the con wrapped up by the end of the month.

Neal's cell buzzed with an incoming text. It was from his cousin Angela: _U alone?_

He texted back: _No. With Aidan & Henry_

 _Meet me 2MORO 8 Aloha_

Angela spent Saturday mornings at the Aloha Emporium, a Hawaiian-themed store and café south of Columbia. She worked there part time in a dual capacity, helping them make sense of their accounts and managing the organic honey-based cosmetics line. Her boyfriend Michael was busy with Manhattan Geeks on Saturdays so their schedules meshed well together.

The Aloha wasn't a bad way to start the day. Neal could load up on Hawaiian donuts and Kona coffee while meeting with her. Since she didn't want to discuss it with others present, there probably was a surprise involved. Perhaps early plans for a Halloween party?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"It's up to us to save Henry from himself," Angela declared emphatically.

Neal took a swig of coffee to wash down his donut while mulling over his cousin's latest project. Angela was their youngest cousin, but that didn't stop her from taking command. It had been also been Neal's experience that she was far too fond of the royal "we," something she had in common with Mozzie. In such cases, the wisest policy to avoid unnecessary grief was to go along with any of her schemes at the onset. No matter how many objections he'd raise, she'd always win in the end.

Still, in light of his present complicated circumstances, a little caution was warranted. "What has he done?"

She huffed impatiently. "It's what he hasn't done that's the problem. Guess who was with me yesterday when I texted you?"

Neal took a moment to gaze at his mural of a Hawaiian rainforest on the café wall. The waterfall and orchids were peaceful and serene. The opposite of Angela. "That's not fair. You have to give me a hint. What were you doing?"

"Michael and I were working on props for my next production." For her doctorate in ethnomusicology, Angela was specializing in adapting folk music for outreach education. Her latest effort was based on an African folktale of a tortoise and a lizard. "Eric was helping us."

Angela was lucky to have his assistance. Eric was a skilled carpenter. She'd already put his skills to good use for the Renaissance Festival a few weeks ago.

"I was wildly over-ambitious," Angela admitted. "Eric's been our savior."

"I'm sure he enjoys it. Henry's busy on a case, and Eric may feel at loose ends." No need to mention that it was Neal's case which was causing the long hours. Neal felt guilty enough without Angela dumping on him too.

"And that's precisely the problem," she said adamantly. "Henry's always away. If it's not business, it's some other case he won't talk about. Eric's trying to be understanding but it's tough."

Neal nodded in sympathy. Angela wasn't telling him anything new.

"When we took a break, I got Eric to open up." She pulled her brunette hair back with her hands into a loose ponytail. "Eric's frustration is about to reach the breaking point. He didn't say it in so many words, but I could read between the lines. He doesn't see how there can be a future for them if Henry shuts him out of major chunks of his life. You see more of Henry than I do. Does he realize the risk he's running?"

"I've added my two bits but Henry blows it off."

"That's probably because you're as bad as he is, and he knows it. Your only saving grace is you're not trying to date anyone."

Angela's incorrect assumption was a view apparently shared by all his friends. And it wasn't that they were so wrong. If he and Sara hadn't already begun dating in secret before he found out about Bianka, he would have held off too.

An impish smile crossed her face. "I know you're not normally thrilled with matchmaking, but if the cause is worthy?"

Neal placed his arms on the table and leaned forward to murmur, "What do you have in mind?"

"Step One is to build a dossier on Eric. You have access to the FBI database."

"What do you hope to find?"

"I don't know. Maybe something Henry missed? He's vetted his mom's dates. When Joe began dating Noelle, even though Joe's Peter's brother, that didn't stop Henry from snooping on him. Henry's investigated your ex-girlfriend Fiona and who knows how many others. But"—she paused dramatically—"did he treat Eric the same way?"

"Of course he did," Neal said automatically then paused to consider. Henry met Eric when he was working on a remodeling project for June. "The Vasquez Brothers had been recommended by Peter's brother Joe who'd hired them for numerous projects. Eric is a known architect. Henry might not have bothered."

"We can't be sure," Angela agreed. "Will you do it?"

"Consider it done. Then what?"

"Is there any way you can speed up the case you two are working on?"

"I wish I could. I'll see Bianka tonight for dinner. That may advance the timetable."

"Where are you taking her?"

"She's invited me out and hasn't told me the location yet. She's calling it a celebration for our return to health."

Angela regarded him anxiously. "You're being careful, right?"

"Don't worry. I'll use the GPS tracker on my watch and agents will be following us."

"Good, because I know we don't have a prayer of succeeding with Henry as long as you're on the endangered species list." Angela intended to make a joke of it but her worried look belied it. Neal wished he could reassure her with more information. Rolf and Klaus wanted him alive and well.

He wished wrapping up the con could be as simple as Angela hoped. He and Sara were reduced to texting on burner phones. Both his and Henry's lives were on hold.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Bianka continued to be mysterious about their destination on the way to the restaurant. It was only when the taxi rolled to a stop in front of the entrance that Neal realized her choice. "We're going to Skyscape? On a Saturday night? How were you able to swing it?"

"I have my connections," Bianka said, attempting to look mysterious then ruining the effect by breaking into a laugh. "One of the waiters is Hungarian and got me the reservations. I went to school with his sister in Budapest."

The restaurant had only been open for a month. Situated near the Empire State Building, its panoramic views and fusion cuisine had propelled it onto the lists of Manhattan's hottest locations.

"How many floors up is it?" Neal asked, adding a trace of anxiety to his expression as he stared at the top floor of the skyscraper.

"Thirty-nine. We'll have a spectacular view."

His fake acrophobia was about to be put to the test. Had Rolf picked the restaurant or left it up to Bianka? Whoever had planned it, Neal was ready. He'd been rehearsing his moves in the loft for the past week. He remembered vividly the feeling of disorientation and nausea even low heights gave him when he was suffering from PTSD a year ago. Once, when he'd attempted to climb down a column at a videogame convention, he'd almost fallen to his death. As Neal replayed the recollections, it wasn't difficult to recreate a faint tremor in his hands.

He and Bianka had glasses of Chardonnay in the lounge on the rooftop where only glass walls separated them from the open air. Neal chose seats near the bar which was close to the interior of the building, but Bianka couldn't take her eyes off the skyline. He braced himself for the inevitable, and it didn't take long to occur.

"Help me identify the skyscrapers," she said, standing up. "What's that building with the gold pyramid on top?"

She walked over to the wall, and he followed, visibly swallowing down the unease as he inched closer to the edge. Cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. "That's the New York Life Building." He took a quick sip of wine to calm his nerves but the disorientation was growing worse. Was he actually feeling the symptoms or was he so deep into the con he couldn't tell the difference?

He was saved by the hostess calling their names. Their table was ready. Bianka didn't mention his discomfort, but she must have noticed it.

"I hope you're not afraid of heights," the hostess joked, leading them to a corner table right on the edge. Now Neal would be surrounded by glass walls on two sides. The hostess encouraged him to sit in the chair closest to the wall but he insisted Bianka have the honor.

"You could sit next to me," she suggested.

"I'd rather sit across the table where I can see you better," he said gallantly. _And be further from the edge_.

They took their seats and the hostess left the wine list for them. He started to pick it up, but she stopped him. "This is my treat. Your credit card's no good." Her hand lingered on his as she took the padded leather folder from him. "I hope we're not rushing it. You look pale."

"I'm fine," he assured her. "It must be the light."

"You look more handsome than ever, but it's a reminder to not overdo it. You fenced this morning and are probably tired. I was sorry I couldn't attend. How did it go?"

As he told her about their victory over Cornell, he kept his eyes locked onto her, demonstrating his fascination with her as well as his reluctance to look at the view. Doc Jacob had warned him of the dangers of immersing himself in the symptoms. Sympathetic PTSD he'd called it. He'd been right, but it was nothing Neal couldn't handle.

Over dinner, Neal steered the subject to art and their love of the old masters. He made a game of it, indulging in which paintings they'd select if they could own any of them.

"Next on my list would be _Woman with a Hat_ by Matisse," Neal said.

Bianka considered for a moment. "I think I'll select . . . _Girl with a Pearl Earring_. I could stare at her for days on end and never grow tired of her."

Neal seethed inwardly at her choice. _Really, Bianka? You had to pick a Vermeer? Slightly obvious. Had they instructed you to slip in a Vermeer reference to gauge my reaction? Who are you getting your marching orders from? Rolf or Klaus? Or are you Python's puppet?_ He realized he was breathing too fast. Paranoia was easier to sink into than he'd suspected.

"Are you okay?" she asked anxiously.

He rubbed his forehead, not answering. Her choice was more unsettling than he'd anticipated. Was that because of _The Astronomer_? If so, he should embrace the feeling. It would feed into the symptoms of schizophrenia he wanted to display. "You realize no matter how famous we become, we'll never make much money from our paintings in our lifetimes."

She nodded gloomily. "It doesn't seem fair, but that's the way it's always been. All the artists we mentioned struggled to make ends meet. Many died paupers."

"So many lives ruined . . ." He let his words trail off, hoping she'd pick up the thread. When she teared up, he knew he'd succeeded. "What did I say?" he asked, playing the innocent, and passing her his handkerchief.

She sniffled. "Don't mind me."

"Are you having money problems? Is it doctor bills?" he persisted. "Do you need a loan?"

"It's not your problem. This is supposed to be a celebration." She looked even more miserable. Bianka's acting was better than usual, leading him to suspect she could easily identify with the problem.

He reached for her hand. "Don't you understand? I'm falling for you. Your problems are my problems. Whatever it is, we'll face it together."

Her eyes welled with more tears. "You barely know me."

"I know all that matters. Let me help you." Neal gave it all he had, his eyes brimming with moisture too.

She took a ragged breath and a large gulp of the Hungarian wine she'd ordered. "It's my brother Sandor. He's not really my brother but the son of my foster parents."

"But you think of him as your brother?"

She nodded and sniffled again, dabbing her nose. "He's five years older and has always been very protective of me."

Neal stood up and moved his chair closer to hers. The sky was now dark but the sensation of floating among lit buildings was just as difficult to endure. His hand shook as he clasped hers. "What kind of trouble is he in?"

"You'll be horrified. You won't want to have anything to do with me." She looked at him with big eyes. "But there shouldn't be any secrets between us. You said you're falling for me. You may not feel the same way after you hear." She paused and took a shuddering breath. "But I love you too much to deceive you."

"If we love each other, we can get through anything." As he mouthed the cliché phrases, his nausea increased. That should play into his schizophrenia. He hadn't realized his body was going to make it so easy on him.

"Even crimes?" she whispered. "Sandor's gotten himself into a mess of trouble with the Serbian Mafia. It's my fault he got involved with them in the first place and now he's made a mistake in a robbery which resulted in the death of their leader. Gang members are threatening to kill our parents if he doesn't pay them blood money."

"How much?"

"Two million euros." She buried her face in her hands and he wrapped his arm around her back, the picture of the solicitous lover.

"Do your parents know what he's been doing?"

"No, and the knowledge would kill them. They love him so much. I can't destroy their belief in him!"

"Then he'll have to pay the gang off."

"But won't they continue to make demands?"

Neal gave her bonus points for letting him explain the strategy. "Not if he goes into hiding. He'll have to change his identity, but that can be managed without much difficulty. Is he married?"

"No, he's single. How can you be so sure this will work?"

"I've had some experience in changing identities." Neal hesitated. "I've gotten mixed up with some bad groups in the past. I could help."

Her eyes widened. Neal gave her credit for reacting so well, demonstrating by her hesitancy that she wanted to ask him for specifics but didn't dare.

"Could you meet with him?" she asked.

"What, fly to Hungary?"

"No. He's here in New York."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"I'll know more tonight, Peter. Bianka wants me to meet Sandor. She balked at providing any further details at the restaurant. She may be insecure over how to handle the situation given the symptoms I was displaying."

Neal had called while Peter was washing dishes. El was out walking Satchmo after their traditional Sunday morning pancake brunch. He'd expected to hear from Neal and was glad he'd volunteered for KP duty. "It will be another test," Peter warned.

"I'll be ready. It's possible she wants Sandor to be present so he can verify my deterioration."

Peter could hear faint sounds of traffic in the background. "Are you on the terrace?"

"Yeah, but I'm sitting at the table close to the doors in case anyone is monitoring. I walked to the edge once and looked down briefly."

"Are you experiencing any actual symptoms?" Neal didn't say anything for a moment, making Peter's inner alarm blare a warning. "You are, aren't you?"

"Honestly, I don't think so, but Jacob was right. The act of imitating acrophobia makes it seem so real, it's hard to tell the difference."

Neal's attempt to reassure him didn't have the desired effect. "Anything else I should know about?"

Neal exhaled. "Bianka brought up Vermeer and my fake paranoia may have been stronger than I anticipated. But don't blow it out of proportion. This simply means I'm more convincing."

Peter wasn't so sure. Neal's shapeshifting ability carried an inherent risk. He'd be so immersed in the con, he'd have a difficult time pulling himself out of it. "Where are you meeting Sandor?"

"At Bianka's apartment. I'll try to get a sample of his handwriting and use the sig-zapper on his phone."

"I wish we'd been able to bug her place."

"You know we couldn't."

"Yeah, but that doesn't keep me from complaining about it." The first time Neal had gone over, he'd found a bug detector hidden in Bianka's bathroom, disguised in a baby powder canister. "My hunch is they'll ask you to steal something."

"That's what I'm counting on," Neal said, taking a sip of what at this hour was probably coffee. "It will give me a chance to put my nascent schizophrenia on display."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Paranoia about how I'm being constantly monitored at the Bureau. That will also feed into those planted memories resurfacing."

"Call me afterward, okay? No matter how late."

"Okay, Dad," he joked, his tone gently mocking. "You should be happy. With Sandor there, there won't be any time for hanky-panky."

"I'll be happy when Rolf, Klaus, and Python are behind bars," Peter retorted. "You spoke with Henry, I assume, about his news on the serpent front?"

"He told me Friday evening. How could Python resist a workshop on python husbandry!"

Henry's scheme was dangerous. They assumed Python was aware of his identity. Henry intended to approach her, intimating that he was more familiar with her activities than he actually was. He'd be alone, with no backup. Peter had offered to contact John Hobhouse. The leader of the Interpol art crimes task force lived in London. He'd be able to provide support personnel. But Henry rejected the idea, pointing out that any arrest would be premature since they had nothing to book her on.

"You're okay with Henry's ploy?" Peter already knew he couldn't be. As a general rule, Neal was happy when he was the only one in danger.

"We're all putting skin in the game," Neal said quietly. "I should say snakeskin. Henry's taking a huge risk, but you and El are in just as much danger every day. It's just not as obvious."

Peter mulled over his words after their conversation ended. Snakes shedding skins—an apt analogy if they intended to bring down Ydrus and the Mansfelds. Jones and Diana were right. They needed to adopt the same strategy.

When El returned with Satchmo, he told her Neal's news. For a long time, El had wanted to be more involved with his cases. Now that she was a participant in the con, she had her wish. And with that came the unease from knowing about the dangers confronting them.

"What do you think will happen tonight?" she asked, unhooking Satchmo's leash.

"They'll coerce Neal into offering his expertise, either in forgery or burglary. It will be a test to see how effective the virtual reality programming was and also serve as another blackmail tool they can hold over his head if needed."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"I know the idea sounds crazy," Tricia said, glancing around the high tech workroom. Posters of video games lined the walls. Long tables were covered with computers and electronic gear. Part of the space was taken up with clay models and drawings. "About as incredible as the fantasy worlds Scima creates. That's why I was delighted Richard suggested we meet him at his workplace. Gamers are transformed into avatars. Rolf has cloaked himself in other identities. Shouldn't we as well?"

El considered Tricia's recommendation. Richard was smart. He wasn't giving an opinion. He kept himself busy by sketching her and Tricia while waiting for a decision.

She and Tricia had met him at his workstation in Scima Gameworks. Since it was a Sunday, his boss Ian Forster had agreed to let them use the facility. Ian had partnered with Peter in California when Neal had been abducted to Scima's campus in Los Angeles. Neal could have sued them since Marta Kolar, the woman responsible for writing the virtual reality program to brainwash Neal, was a Scima employee. Neal hadn't pressed charges, and ever since Scima had bent over backward to accommodate Bureau requests.

Richard was a gifted sculptor with a virtuosic ability to transform someone into another person. Through a combination of prosthetics, makeup, and wigs he'd made Neal look like Owen Wilson, Sara a double for Kate, and Travis a clone of Spock. Tricia was now advocating Richard use his wizardry so she could masquerade as El.

"I'm strongly in favor of your offer to coach me in hostage techniques," El said, choosing her words carefully. She understood that she along with several others were likely Ydrus targets. If they wanted to control Peter, what better way than kidnapping his wife?

"And we'll continue working on that today," Tricia assured her, "but I can't possibly prepare you as well as a trained FBI agent is. Normally we'd handle this type of situation by moving you to a safe house, preferably in a different city."

 _Sneaky ploy, Tricia_. She knew El would be appalled at the suggestion and that would soften her up for a compromise. Even though she saw the net tightening around her, El didn't immediately wave the white flag of surrender. "I can't possibly leave town. I have too many commitments. In addition to my business, I'm in rehearsals for my community theater performance in _Bell, Book, and Candle_."

"Even for a few days?" Tricia wheedled. "I'm not suggesting it will be for very long. We'll know more once Ydrus makes its next move. For now, we simply want to make contingency preparations. We can't spring something like this on Richard at the last minute."

He gave her a startled look as if to say, _Don't blame me!_ "I'll make it work with whatever time we have," he protested.

"You've already been overly generous with your time," Tricia insisted. "You have a full-time job. Evenings you're at Columbia, working on your master's. Neal told me you're a key member of the fencing team."

El sank into her chair. She'd feel like a louse to raise any objections, and Tricia knew it. "How difficult do you think it would be?" she asked Richard.

"Your faces are similar. You both have blue eyes so Tricia won't need to wear contacts. You're close to the same height. Frankly, making Sara resemble Kate was much more of a challenge."

"I must admit, I'm curious to see what Tricia would look like," El admitted. "Purely as a contingency measure," she added sternly when Tricia broke into a smile, "and Richard will be fully reimbursed, right?"

"Of course," Tricia said.

"Good, because as long as we're talking about contingency measures, I have another one to suggest."

"I bet I know which one you're talking about," Tricia said. "Neal already called me."

"He's spoken with me about it too," Richard added. "Travis is on board. Does Peter know about it?"

He looked nervous at the thought, and El didn't blame him. Richard had prepared a disguise for Peter last month, but it had been an ordeal to convince her makeup-adverse husband to agree to wear it. This time the tables were turned. "I'll explain that Travis is the _logical_ choice since he's the only member of the team as tall as Peter. Once he hears that Mr. Spock will act as his double, how can he refuse?"

"I'm glad you agree," Tricia said. "If Travis is standing in for Peter, doesn't it naturally follow that I'll provide the same service for you?"

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal went to Bianka's apartment at seven that evening as she'd asked. Her "brother" was already there.

Who was he really? He had to be someone close to the top echelon of Ydrus for them to trust him with their secrets. The fellow had the right look for the part. Thin and pale, he was wearing a loose pullover under a corduroy jacket. His brown hair was on the long side and swept back from his forehead. He had a thick accent which could have been designed to disguise his voice.

Bianka was already emotional at the door. Cynically, Neal wondered if she'd been working on her tears for the past half hour. The waterworks were barely held back during the introductions and once Neal sat next to her on the couch, the flood began in earnest.

"I'm the one to blame," she wailed. "If I hadn't forged that first painting, Sandor never would have gotten involved."

"Don't say that! I was the one at fault." Sandor turned to Neal. "I'm older. I should have known better." They made quite an act with their phony emotions. Neither one of them was very believable.

Sandor appeared to be about the same age as Jacek Kolar, Klaus's tech expert. Would Klaus be so brazen as to use someone Neal knew? That would explain the accent. The bone structure appeared similar. Klaus and Rolf often availed themselves of plastic surgery techniques. Jacek could have gone under the knife as well.

Sandor perched on the edge of the bed, facing them. He rubbed his fisted hands nervously on his thighs. "Bianka was in high school. I was in college when our mother lost her job. Our father took on additional work but he couldn't pay the bills. When I was approached, it didn't even sound illegal. My contact was a fellow student who'd visited me at our apartment. He knew of Bianka's talent. Asked if she could paint a Klee for a friend of his. There was no mention of it being sold as a forgery."

"That's often the way it starts," Neal said, making soothing sounds of commiseration. He hesitated as if to add something then stopped himself. In some respects the story was similar to what happened to him in high school. Had the Mansfelds somehow found out about it?

Sandor picked up on the sympathetic tone immediately. "I only found out weeks later that I was supplying paintings to the Mafia. At first, I freaked out, but they were kind and generous." He shrugged. "I realize now what a mistake I made. I was trying to protect my family. Now if I don't do something, they'll be killed because of me."

Was that a veiled reference designed to make Neal worry that something would happen to Peter and El? He was beginning to believe the script was filled with coded messages designed to reinforce his implanted memories.

"I didn't think how I was dragging Bianka down with me," Sandor admitted, lowering his voice. "Bianka tells me you work for the FBI. My first thought was to go there."

"You can't!" Neal broke in immediately. "They don't operate in Europe, and besides, they wouldn't protect your parents." He dialed up the half-suppressed anger in his voice. "Zero tolerance, that's their policy. They'd slap you in irons so fast your head would spin, and you'd be shipped back to the Hungarian police. No, the only way out of your jam is to pay off the Mafia. Then your parents will be safe. Afterward, though, you'll need to assume another identity and go into hiding."

"But how?"

"I have some experience in that area."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Did Sandor take the bait and question you about your past?" Jones asked.

Peter had called the briefing as soon as the team members arrived at work. Neal had phoned in a report the previous evening, but his information was news to everyone else. Peter was glad he'd already heard it once. It gave him a chance to focus on Neal's body language.

Peter had texted Diana and Jones to sit on either side of Neal. In the virtual reality program Rolf had written, they along with Hughes had fired at Neal as he escaped from prison. One of them had wounded him in the back. If Neal were really experiencing flashbacks, their proximity would be uncomfortable. So far, Neal didn't display any sign of it.

What was different was a noticeable jerkiness in his movements. He sat down stiffly as if his back were sore. "I didn't go into any details," Neal said. "That would have been out of character. Instead, I asked them to go with me to the Met this evening."

"And why would you possibly want to go to an art museum?" Diana asked, arching her eyebrows into her hairline as if she didn't know.

Neal gave her his trademark wide-eyed innocent look which he knew would fool no one sitting at the table. "Why to case it, of course. I'm going to offer to steal a painting. I've never lifted a work from the Met. It's about time." He scanned the group accusingly. "You haven't been letting me have any fun at all. All those art heist boot camps I led and you never let me put any of the plans into action? This is my chance."

Jones choked back his chuckle and eyed Peter as if to say, _how are you going to handle this?_

Peter swiped a hand over his face. Good question.

"It's the logical solution," Neal explained earnestly. "All those old memories are coming back. That itch to be a thief has reemerged and I want to scratch it. Sandor needs two million euros, and I have just the painting in mind."

"Are you actually going to steal it?" Travis asked hesitantly.

"I wish I could, but I don't think they'll let me," he said regretfully.

Peter exhaled in relief, no longer needing to torture himself with the thought of contacting the Met authorities to explain why they should allow Neal to steal a painting.

Diana snapped her fingers. "You're going to put your schizophrenia on display."

He nodded. "I'll act so out of control that they won't allow it. Supposedly Ydrus thinks I'm valuable property. It wouldn't do for me to crash and burn before they get their claws into me."

Peter turned to Jones. "I want blanket coverage of Neal, Bianka, and Sandor. Every move they make inside and outside the museum needs to be monitored. Neal, when are you meeting them?"

"Six o'clock. Afterward, I'll suggest we have dinner at the Italian bistro on the corner of 81st Street."

"Sistina?" Diana asked hopefully.

He nodded. "I'll make reservations for the table in the southeast corner. On a Monday evening, they shouldn't be very crowded. "

"I hereby volunteer for the monitoring assignment," Diana said, raising her hand.

"You'll have to go in disguise," Peter warned. "Take Agent Badillo with you. Travis, gather a team for the surveillance van."

Neal handed Travis his sig-zapper. "This should have the codes for both Sandor and Bianka. It also has the recording of our conversation last night."

Peter knew he didn't need to remind him to record everything tonight.

"There's something else you should know," Neal added. "When I met Sandor there was something familiar about him. I couldn't pinpoint it. Then the way he held his mouth when he was giving me his sob story reminded me of a similar look I'd seen." He scanned the team members. "Jacek Kolar had the identical expression when he told me his son had been injured in a car crash."

Jacek Kolar, the phantom spouse of Marta Kolar. They'd been members of Klaus's crew when Neal worked undercover at Klaus's New York townhouse a year ago. Jacek was an expert programmer. He was suspected of being Rolf's assistant, but he'd dropped out of sight at the beginning of 2005. Peter's pulse quickened at the thought they could have a lead on him.

If Jacek were truly back in town, did that imply Klaus and Rolf were as well? The end game was looking closer than ever.

* * *

 _Notes: Rolf, Klaus, and Marta have all undergone plastic surgery to change their appearance. It's not much of a stretch for Neal to believe Marta's husband Jacek has as well. To con them, White Collar prepares to do some shapeshifting of its own. Changing one's physical appearance is relatively straightforward, but the type of mental shapeshifting Neal does is much more difficult. For the con he's running in this story, it's a particularly dangerous gambit. I've written about it for our blog this week. The post is called: "Skin Shedding."_

 _Next week Henry and Python meet face to face, and Ydrus finally makes its move against Neal. I hope you'll join me for Chapter 4: Freefall._

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Musicians board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	4. Freefall

**Chapter 4: Freefall**

 **Metropolitan Museum of Art. October 10, 2005. Monday evening.**

"It's magnificent, don't you agree?"

Neal stepped back to let Bianka and Sandor admire the object of his desire. He'd met them in the Great Hall on the ground floor at the Met. From there they ascended the main staircase to the second floor home of the Caravaggios. By the time they arrived in the gallery, Bureau agents were already in place. Neal recognized two agents who normally worked labor-racketeering cases. Travis was coordinating the surveillance teams. Multiple people were assigned in case the suspects separated. But they certainly weren't going to now—not with Neal introducing them to his dream crime.

He'd made his selection with Henry in mind. His cousin wasn't a fan of Baroque art, but this was one painting he'd approve of.

"I thought you'd direct us to Caravaggio's painting of the lute player," Bianka said, linking her arm with his.

" _Dass ist viel besser, nein_?" When Neal raved about his choice of painting in German, he was pleased to see they were both fluent in the language. It increased the likelihood that Sandor was Jacek. At Klaus's townhouse in New York, he and Jacek had spoken exclusively in German.

"Why are we speaking German?" Bianka asked. "Are you in a professorial mood?"

"It's best to take precautions," Neal said, casting a suspicious glance at a random pair of visitors standing beside them. "You never know who's listening in. Not many feds speak German."

"You aren't worried, are you?" she asked, regarding him with dismay.

"They have me on a tight leash," Neal muttered. He'd been pitching his voice low, and he decreased the volume still further.

"I don't understand," Sandor said. "Why would they be watching you?"

"Long story." For someone as paranoid as he was portraying himself, no way would he divulge those nuggets.

Sandor didn't press. "I'll grant you the painting is a masterpiece but I still don't understand why you were so eager for us to see it."

Neal didn't answer him directly. "Bianka's right—I was tempted by the lutenist. He has an array of other musical instruments displayed on the table in front of him, demonstrating that he's a man of many talents. He doesn't let himself be hemmed in . . ." Neal let his words trail off for a moment before picking up the thread. "But then I decided on _The Musicians_. I like the symbolism of the four players working together." He turned to Bianka. "They're like us. You, me, and Sandor are the principles. The fourth figure is partly hidden. He represents your parents that we're trying to protect."

Rolf should be pleased. By the time Neal was done, he'd realize Neal was subconsciously referring to himself, Klaus, and Peter with Rolf working behind the scenes.

"But how is this is going to help us?" Bianka asked. Then her eyes flashed recognition. "You want me to forge it?"

He shook his head. "That won't bring in the funds you need. For that, we'll need something much more daring. It's not safe to talk here. I'll explain over dinner."

Before leaving the museum, Neal took them on a tour, pointing out a couple of storerooms. He highlighted one in particular—the room where he and Klaus had hidden the night Klaus intended to steal _The Woman in Blue_. If Sandor were Jacek, he'd understand the significance. Neal refused to give any details about what he was planning, but chatted excitedly about his enthusiasm for many of the paintings, rhapsodizing at length on the Gentileschi. As they strolled through the museum, he increased the severity of his limp.

"Before we leave, we have to show Sandor the Vermeer paintings," Bianka said, clasping his hand. "I know he's one of your favorite artists."

Neal jerked as if she'd punched him. "You're wrong. I'm much more attracted to the Italian masters." He quickly added. "I wish the Met had more of Da Vinci's drawings. There's one in particular— _Head of a Woman_. It's in Parma. Have you ever seen it?"

Before she had a chance to respond, he described it in loving detail, mentioning how much the painting reminded him of her. Neal sped up his word flow till he was spewing a torrent of disjointed ideas. He caught Bianka and Sandor exchanging troubled looks. He left them alone while he visited the men's room and hoped that the agents following them would record their exchange.

Did Rolf think Bianka's mention of Vermeer would strengthen the implanted memories? Neal planned to act as if it had.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Sistina had reserved the table he requested. When they arrived, Neal chose the corner chair for himself. Sandor and Bianka sat on either side of him. They deferred to him to order, and he accommodated them with grilled shrimp and scallops and a Pinot Grigio.

"You should let me pay," Sandor said. "It's the least I can do for your help."

"Why do you say that? I haven't done anything yet." They were continuing to speak in German. A disguised Diana was sitting with Agent Badillo in a table next to them. They had brought along notepads and appeared to be conducting a business meeting while they ate—a good excuse to linger.

"But you said you had a plan," Bianka prompted.

Neal nodded. "I'll steal the Caravaggio I pointed out to you. That will provide sufficient funds for you to pay off your debt and set yourself up in a new identity."

Sandor and Bianka both stared at him dumbfounded. Sandor was the first to close his mouth. "Are you crazy?"

"Crazy like a genius." He smiled at them. "At the Bureau, I've studied the techniques of the best art thieves in the world. Liberating that Caravaggio will be child's play."

"But it's the Met!" Bianka protested, her voice a distressed squeak. "How could you pull it off?"

"My team developed the security software they use," Neal explained. "The man in charge of the operation sits next to me at work. He told me about a flaw in the system. They're working on a patch, but it's not ready yet." He hoped that when they reported back to Rolf, Neal's explanation would be confirmation of his value at the Bureau. There was no need to kidnap him.

"How would you accomplish it?" Sandor asked.

"I'll hide custodial gear in the storeroom I pointed out to you. Just before closing time, I'll retreat to my cubbyhole, change into a maintenance uniform, and wait till late evening. I will have already obtained the cleaning schedule. It will be a simple matter to place the painting in a trash bag, put it in my service trolley, and wheel it out to the landing dock where you'll be waiting for me in a truck. We'll hit the Met tomorrow night."

"That's too soon," Sandor sputtered. "There's not enough time to make the arrangements."

"Sure there is. And if anything goes wrong, I'll simply go to the roof and scale down the exterior wall with the painting on my back." He lifted a shaky hand to toast them. "To the heist of the century!"

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Slow down, Neal," Peter cautioned. "You're still racing a mile a minute."

"It's better this way," Neal insisted. "I don't know when I'm being monitored. At this point, I have to live the con."

"You sound just like Mozzie."

Neal's jaw hardened. "He knows what he's talking about."

Peter didn't press the point. Neal was every bit as hyper as he'd been the previous night. Peter had called the briefing to update the team on the events of the previous evening, but he had an ulterior motive, and that was to evaluate Neal's condition. The limp as he walked in was more noticeable. Neal's thinness accentuated the wild-eyed look on his face as he made his report. He'd developed a head jerk which evoked the onset of rampant paranoia, occasionally tossing in an eye twitch to confirm the prognosis.

It was terrifying to watch. Peter had to constantly remind himself it was simply an act. He was relieved Neal didn't have a wife or girlfriend who had to watch his descent.

The translation team had worked overnight to prepare transcripts of the recordings. Jones, Diana, and Travis all had copies in front of them.

"Why did you mention the Da Vinci?" Travis asked and checked his notes. "The work you called _Head of a Woman_."

"I was sketching that painting in Parma when Klaus first approached me," Neal said. "It was something he referred to during the virtual reality program. I used it to help confirm that the implanted memories were surfacing. Did anyone catch Bianka and Sandor's conversation when I left them alone at the museum?"

Jones nodded. "They continued to speak German. That in itself is a tell. If Sandor were really Bianka's brother, he'd have switched to Hungarian. They were particularly interested in your response to the Vermeer."

"Sandor said, 'It's working,' " Peter confirmed. "Bianka asked if they should insist on visiting the Vermeer gallery, and Sandor advised against it. He was concerned about your behavior. You'll particularly like this—Sandor said you were a changed man from a year ago. Your behavior wasn't what they'd intended and Bianka wanted to know how they should handle it."

"What did he reply?" Neal asked, placing his arms on the table and leaning forward.

"Sandor said he'd seek instructions. He didn't mention any names."

"You already suspected Sandor was Jacek," Travis said. "His words corroborated your belief and we have additional hard evidence. Last autumn, Klaus had taken you and the Kolars out to dinner. We'd bugged the restaurant and recorded the conversation. When I fed Jacek's voice through voice biometrics, there was a near perfect match to Sandor's."

"Man, I wish we could arrest him now," Jones said, letting out a sigh.

"So do I," Peter said, "but we've got to let him run free. We're luring those ghosts out from hiding. We can't stop till we have their leaders." Sandor was under constant surveillance. They didn't dare bug his room in the hotel on Broadway where he was staying since all known Ydrus operatives used detectors, but a van was in position outside the hotel to monitor his movements. Peter turned to Neal. "Thanks to your performance at dinner, that shouldn't take long. When you left the table, Sandor and Bianka discussed your proposal. It didn't escape his notice that your scheme has some glaring similarities to what Klaus devised a year ago."

"When you indicated the same storeroom you and Klaus had used last fall, Sandor was chewing his lip so hard, it's a wonder there's anything left to it," Diana added.

"So? Do they want to act on it?" Neal asked eagerly. "My attempts to convince them went nowhere."

"Bianka questioned Sandor about it," Jones said, "and he was adamantly opposed to moving forward."

"Don't look so dismayed!" Peter added, hoping Neal's disappointed reaction was simply part of the con. "Sandor's seriously worried about your mental state. He pointed out it would be impossible to arrange all the necessary details in twenty-four hours. Sandor's no fool. He wants to check with his bosses before agreeing to anything."

"You mean I won't scale the wall of the Met tonight?" Neal asked, assuming a woebegone look.

"NO!" everyone thundered in one voice.

"Besides, you'll be much too busy," Diana said. "We saved the best for last."

"Which is?"

Diana swiveled her chair to face him. "After you got in the taxi to speed off for van duty, Bianka and Sandor strolled down 81st Street. On the corner of Madison Avenue, they stopped for an embrace. We have the photos to prove it."

Neal's mouth dropped open. "He hit on my girl!"

Jones nodded knowingly. "I've seen the photos. No way would a brother kiss a sister like that."

Diana reached over to pat him on the shoulder. "I know this comes as a blow, but Bianka's been playing you. Judging by the looks she sent him, Bianka's crushing big time on Sandor."

"Did she kiss him or he kiss her?" Neal demanded.

"He started it," Jones confirmed. "Why?"

Neal exhaled, looking relieved. "She'll have an easier time playing the victim card. And that's exactly what we want her to do."

Peter was breathing easier as well. Bianka was unwittingly helping them. Would Joanna be equally accommodating? According to Henry's itinerary, he was attending the python husbandry workshop in England today. Was he about to go head to head with a human Python?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Anya was one of the first to arrive at the workshop in Oakfield Manor. The Royal Herpetological Society was her favorite charity and she'd attended its events for years under her alias of Joanna Abbot. She was friends with many of the attendees, none of whom knew her real name.

The city of Chester with its ancient walls and black-and-white timbered structures was a charming location. She was glad she'd suggested it to the organizers. Where else would you find a modern zoo built around a Victorian manor house? The blend of old and new appealed to her, just like mixing firearms sales with old masterpieces.

She'd decided to attend the workshop before they advanced the timetable on Caffrey, and she'd seen no reason to switch her plans. Rolf could easily manage without her. Marta was accompanying Anya on the trip. She was scheduled to meet a Russian arms dealer in Liverpool while Anya was in Chester.

This was a timeout for Anya to relax. As she surveyed the room filled with cages of snakes, she was eager to indulge in private pleasures. The zoo veterinarian conducted a fascinating discussion on the dietary requirements of pythons. She'd need to speak with her chef when she returned home.

An hour into the workshop, a late arrival joined their group. Anya kept any hint of surprise from showing on her face when Henry Winslow strolled into the room. She'd just made friends with a lovely banana python. Would she soon acquire a new species? What did Henry resemble? An African rock python, perhaps. Anya felt her lips curl upward as she pictured placing him in a cage next to his cousin.

How had he tracked her? How much did he know about her? Huber and Kramer probably squealed to authorities after their capture the previous month, but the damage they would have been able to inflict was minimal. Neither one was aware of the fortress in Hungary. They'd been left in the dark about Bianka and they only knew Anya by her code name. Had Henry been searching the world for Python? He had the wealth to do so. The thought was intoxicating.

Rolf had expressed an interest in Neal's cousin. Although she was skeptical of the plan, she'd read his profile. Peter and Henry were vipers and not to be trusted. But once they were reprogrammed into being her pet pythons, they could be useful.

She stroked the python's sinuous coils as she reviewed her options. Henry had buttonholed the workshop instructor, a veterinarian from the Chester Zoo. He'd made no attempt to approach her, allowing her to take the lead.

Klaus had argued against Rolf's attempts to include Henry. He viewed Henry as a threat to the close relationship he wanted to reestablish with Neal. Anya had often wondered if there were anything sexual in Klaus's attachment, but he denied it vociferously. Psychologists would have a field day with his deep-rooted desire to have Neal as his younger brother. It verged on dependent personality disorder and was a vulnerability she'd continue to exploit.

Penfold could brainwash Henry into attempting to kill his cousin, giving Klaus the opportunity to play the hero. Klaus's gratitude would be an additional hook to control him.

Anya returned the python to the cage and pulled out her cell phone. Marta was only a few hours away. By the end of the workshop, she could be in position. After texting her the details, Anya approached Henry.

"I don't believe we've met," she said. "My name's Joanna."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry was gaining new respect for Neal by the second. It wasn't that girls had never hit on him, but Joanna's level of seduction was on a different plane. And now it was rapidly spiraling out of control.

Henry had checked in with Neal and Peter's art crimes contact in London before heading to Chester. John Hobhouse had offered to alert the local police, and Henry had agreed but he refused to allow anyone to accompany him. Instead, Henry agreed to check in at regular intervals. It wasn't necessary but might keep Peter from stewing so much.

The day had started out well enough. Even though he'd gotten stuck in a traffic jam out of London, he'd arrived only an hour late to the workshop. There were about twenty-five participants. Joanna had been all gracious smiles when she introduced herself. Henry portrayed himself as a hobbyist. He'd boned up on the care and feeding of his slithery friends on the flight from New York City and felt equipped to handle anything she might throw at him. In retrospect, he would have been better off watching _Fatal Attraction_.

Joanna was surprisingly cordial. It was his first chance to hear her accent and he couldn't detect much of any. She knew several of the participants and introduced him to them. He recorded all the exchanges on his phone.

When Joanna discovered it was his first trip to Chester, she insisted on taking him out to dinner, and Henry was happy to accept. It was a rare opportunity to learn more about her. Henry assumed she knew exactly who he was. His objective was to determine her motivation. Was she acting out of curiosity or did she have something specific in mind?

She took him to a rustic French bistro in the old part of town. Chez Jules was more Neal's style than his. Many of the items on the menu he'd never heard of. He stuck to sirloin and managed. Even drank wine for the occasion. Joanna maintained a constant flow of conversation about expeditions she'd made to exotic countries to search for snakes in their native habitats. They discussed her business. She was a buyer for a large antique gallery but clearly had ample financial reserves.

When she invited him to her suite at the Chester Grosvenor Hotel, how could he refuse? There wasn't any good reason to decline the champagne she ordered. Henry pretended to get drunk, hoping she'd reveal what it was she wanted. For her part, she was drinking champagne like water as her flirtation turned aggressive. They sat next to each other on the loveseat, her hands wandering into forbidden territory.

Hell, what now?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal made a point of arriving earlier than normal to his art studio at Columbia. Bianka didn't usually show up till around seven, and he wanted to confront her as soon as she appeared. He'd rehearsed the scene during the afternoon. His watch was ready to record every second.

When he heard her door open, he gave her one minute before making his move, composing his features into a look of distressed outrage. He'd seen the woman he loved making out, not just with another man, but her brother.

When she opened the door to his knock, her surprise was evident. "Hi, you got here early!"

"I wanted to see you." His voice trembled with a mixture of hurt and outrage.

"What's wrong?" she demanded, grasping his arm and pulling him into her studio.

He didn't answer her for a moment, staring wild-eyed at her. "How's your brother?" he finally sputtered.

"He's all right. Are you upset at what happened yesterday?"

"Yeah, but not at the Met. How could you have!"

"How could I have what?"

"Lie to me!" He swallowed as if he had a rock in his throat. "All this time, playing me for a fool."

She flushed, her expression growing anguished. She was either a better actress than he'd given her credit for or she did feel a certain degree of remorse. "You're wrong. My feelings for you are real!"

"So you're in love with two men?"

She turned even redder. "What do you mean?"

"I thought there was something suspicious about Sandor, or whatever his name is. And I was right. I had the taxi drive around the corner then I got out. I followed you and your boyfriend. Saw the two of you kissing . . ." Neal stopped as if his emotions got the better of him. He swiped his hand across his face.

Stricken, Bianka's mouth dropped open but no sound came out.

"Was everything a lie?" he asked, adding a couple of extra buckets of despair to his voice.

She began to cry. "You're too good for me. I don't deserve you." Sobbing, she threw herself at his chest.

He patted her back awkwardly while waiting for her next move.

"I tried to reform. Give up the life, but I can't!" she wailed. He was glad he'd worn an old sweater. He shifted his weight and stiffened his back as if in pain.

"What's going on, Bianka? Don't I deserve the truth?"

"And so much more." She pulled him down on the floor cushions. "I don't care what the doctors say." She kissed him hungrily, and after an initial hesitation, he went for it as well.

"So what if I die? I deserve it." She cupped his face in her hands. "Everything you know about me is a lie, except this, I do truly love you. This is the last evening we'll see each other. You deserve to know why."

He looked pleadingly into her eyes. "Don't say that!"

"Sandor didn't lure me into forging art. I did it on my own. I've been forging art and working for the Mafia since I was sixteen. "

As Neal looked at her in shock, her eyes welled up with tears once more. "You're right. Sandor's not my half-brother. He recruited me when he was in college. He seduced me when I was sixteen. He's the only man I've ever known. You have to believe me. He helped me get the scholarship to Columbia and now he wants me to forge more paintings for him. The Mafia will take revenge on my parents if I don't cooperate, but not because of him—because of me. That's why we can never be together."

"That's where you're wrong." He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close to his chest. "Now I know you and I were meant to be together." He kissed her, projecting Sara's face onto her. If this worked out as he hoped, it would soon be over.

Someone knocked on the door, but she ignored it and he did too.

When Neal pulled back, he said, "You and I are more alike than you know."

"Don't tell me that. You should report me to the FBI. I've placed you in an impossible position. Now that you know the truth, I'll leave immediately. You'll never see me again."

"Don't say that! I couldn't bear for us to be apart!" His hands trembling, he embraced her once more. "I haven't been open about myself either. I was afraid you wouldn't have anything to do with me if you knew."

"Knew what?"

"I'm a thief, too." He gazed at her anxiously.

She gazed at him, wide-eyed. "You are?"

"How else would I know how to steal a painting from the Met?" he shrugged. "I'm also a forger—one of the best in the world, or so I've been told."

"Does Peter know about you?"

He nodded. "It's complicated, but be patient a little while longer. I can get you away from the Mafia. You'll be able to work with someone who'll respect your talent. Peter and I have a plan."

"What sort of plan?"

He ignored her question. "We'll be able to be thieves and continue our studies at Columbia. Peter thinks it's best I keep my job at the Bureau for now, and I trust him."

She stroked his cheek. "I stopped believing in fairy tales long ago. You should too. If Peter knows about your past he must be using you, just like Sandor is me."

Neal shook his head vehemently. "I can prove it to you. Did you read about the recovery of the Nazi plunder a few weeks ago?"

"Of course! That was all the art department was talking about."

"Peter and I were the ones who achieved it."

"You did? How?"

"I'll explain later. What you need to know is that we didn't return all the art we found. We extracted a small payment."

Her mouth dropped. "What did you keep?"

"I have a soft spot for Raphael."

She looked at him, her expression puzzled.

"Have you ever heard of the Raphael self-portrait which went missing during the war?" He smiled at her. "It's missing no more."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter turned up the volume on the feed.

 _"When will you see him next?"_ Sandor asked.

 _"We'll be in classes all day today,"_ Bianka said. _"Jacek, what should I tell him?"_

 _"Hey, none of that. I don't care if no one is around you. Never step out of character."_

 _"Sorry, it won't happen again."_

 _"I know it's hard on you. It is on me too,"_ he said, his voice quieter. _"It will soon be over. Act as if I'm on board for stealing The Musicians, but tell him we need to hold off till Friday. Everything should be in place by then. They talked with Erasmus."_ Sandor's voice had grown even lower. It was hard to hear him through the sounds of the traffic.

 _"Do they want to proceed with The Astronomer?"_

 _"Not in his condition, and there's another complication I just learned about. They're not sure they have the original."_

" _What?_ " Bianka's voice breathed her disbelief.

 _"You heard me. They're convinced Burke's been a player for longer than we realized."_

Peter switched off the recording and turned to Jones. "When did this come in?"

"Seven o'clock this morning," Jones said.

Peter knew about Neal's conversation with Bianka the previous evening. Neal had called him late that night with the summary before he downloaded the feed from his watch. When he arrived at work, Jones greeted him with this gem. There was no longer any question of who Sandor was. Nor of Bianka's feelings toward him.

"What do you make of their comments about _The Astronomer_?" Jones asked.

"Has Rolf grown paranoid? He could believe I lusted after the painting as well. What if Neal stole it for me, and I'd replaced it with a forgery before Klaus stole it in June?"

Jones chuckled in disbelief. "When would Neal have had the chance?"

"He could have prepared the forgery in advance of the trip and switched paintings from the storage facility the week we were in Paris. Then when Klaus stole it, he was actually stealing Neal's copy."

"If they believe that, Penfold may use it as an excuse for why Neal is acting so strange. The trigger has even more impact because Neal knows of your involvement."

"Exactly." Peter pulled out his cell phone and texted Neal to call him. His classes would have to wait. After weeks of waiting, the train was speeding down the track. The conversation between Bianka and Jacek had been recorded thanks to Neal's use of the syg-zapper. Travis believed Jacek could be making use of the dark web to contact Rolf and that would make tracing communications between the two of them virtually impossible.

When Travis came to his office later that day to report that Satchmo had a visitor in the afternoon, Peter suspected Jacek had put that untraceable system to work.

"Were you expecting Jacek to drop by?" Travis asked as he closed the door.

Travis's smile was echoed on his own face. The pieces were falling in place just as they'd predicted. Peter and El had been leaving for work together ever since the op began. She was never alone at the house. This was clear proof for why those steps were necessary.

"I was hoping he'd make a call. I haven't seen the feed yet. I assume Satchmo's okay?"

Travis nodded. "He may not be hungry tonight. Jacek tossed the contents of an entire bag of dog treats on the living room rug for him. I doubt you'll find any physical evidence of that when you return home."

The team in charge of tracking Jacek had followed him from his hotel on the Upper West Side. Once they saw him take the exit for the Brooklyn Bridge, they were confident of his destination. They'd telephoned ahead for a subsidiary unit to handle the surveillance at Peter's house.

Mozzie's security system had been modified to look like standard-issue equipment. What wasn't standard were the additional cameras and microphones set up in each room. Peter activated them every time he left the house.

"Jacek rang the doorbell then used some pocket device to disarm the security alarm," Travis explained. "I wish I could get my hands on it. Once Jacek entered, he slipped on gloves and cased every room of your house. When he found the Renoir in your bedroom, he took several photos and added a macro-lens for close-up work."

"Excellent. Neal had dangled the lure in front of Bianka last night. Now Jacek has the verification. Did he make any phone calls?"

"Not to my knowledge. He worked on your gun safe in the study but wasn't able to open it. His skills must not be up to Neal's standard."

Peter smiled. "I had Mozzie install a top-of-the-line lock. We want Rolf to wonder just what secrets may be inside."

Travis nodded. "The Raphael self-portrait could easily fit inside as well as the Vermeer. Jacek also took several photos of that painting Neal made of the three of you stargazing at your cabin in the Catskills."

That would give something else for Rolf to mull over. Peter hoped the main takeaway was that the three of them were a family, and for Neal to do his best work, he'd need to stay in New York with them.

"Any word from Henry?" Travis asked.

"He called an hour ago. He's back in London after quite a day." Peter filled him in on the events. "Henry was finally able to extricate himself from Joanna's room around midnight. The way he glossed over the details is telling."

Travis chuckled. "I don't blame him. Being seduced by the likely head of Ydrus? He was lucky to escape without being bitten."

"I reminded him of that." What had Henry been thinking? A million things could have gone wrong. He could have been kidnapped, poisoned, or killed. And all Henry's arguments that Python wouldn't try anything since she was operating under her Joanna alias were examples of very flawed reasoning—the kind of logic Peter had spent the past two years trying to drum out of Neal's skull.

By Travis's look of sympathy, he commiserated with Peter. "Still, you won't hear any complaints from me. It's done. And now we have the signature of Python's cell phone."

That's what kept Peter from venting as much as he would have otherwise. Henry had forwarded the code. From now on, whenever Python called any of the known devices, they should be able to intercept the message and locations. They'd gotten codes for Jacek, Bianka, and Python. If the scenario played out as they hoped, they'd soon have Klaus's signal as well.

Now that Jacek had examined the Renoir and Neal appeared ready to steal a Caravaggio, the two most likely steps were for Rolf to contact Peter and Klaus to approach Neal. Peter expected that Klaus would make the first move. He could explain his arrival in terms of rescuing Sandor. Based on what Bianka had already told Neal, she could concoct a tale of being acquainted with someone in Europe who approached her with an offer to help. She'd refuse to allow Neal to do the job because she was afraid he'd be caught. She could easily mention he wasn't well enough. Neal hadn't regained all of his weight. She'd be able to use that as evidence.

When Neal asked her who the guy was, she'd tell him about Klaus, probably laying it on thick about how much he'd taught her and helped her over the years. How she'd wanted to join his crew, but he wanted her to get an education instead.

Doc Jacob had advised Neal to act dumbfounded when Bianka mentioned his name. Klaus most likely believed that when Neal heard his former mentor was alive, the flood of implanted memories would merge with bewilderment over Klaus's miraculous reappearance. Neal should act disoriented and irrational—the helpless victim for Klaus to heal.

The team was relying on the belief that Klaus and Rolf wanted Neal to stay in New York. His contacts at both the FBI and the art world were too valuable to lose. Hopefully, Anya felt that way too. If not, all bets were off.

Since this was Wednesday, Neal was spending the day on campus. He expected Bianka to invite him to her apartment in the evening. Would this finally be the day Klaus revealed himself?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Bianka inserted the key into the lock of her apartment door. "We'll talk about it inside, I promise." She hesitated then placed her hands on either side of Neal's face, drawing him into a kiss.

Was she picturing Jacek while he was imagining Sara? Neal closed his eyes, prolonging the kiss and plunging his hands into her hair. Surely only a few more hours to endure this. Today, tomorrow, how long would he have to wait for Klaus to make his move?

Bianka pulled back first, her face flushed. Her eyes were welling up with tears. Was she convinced that he was so deeply in love that she felt sorry for him? That was his hope.

"We should go inside," she urged softly, reaching for the doorknob.

He placed his hand on top of hers, stopping her from turning the knob. "I refuse to delay any longer. If Sandor won't help, I'll go in alone. You've already had to endure the threat for far too long."

She kissed him again. "I love you. That's all that matters." Gently she removed his hand and opened the door.

The interior was dark. A little light was coming through the partially closed window blinds but not enough to see anything more than the shadows of her furniture.

Bianka flicked the hall switch but the light didn't come on. "I was afraid of that," she groaned. "It was flickering yesterday."

"No problem. I can take care of it. Do you have a flashlight?" Neal tensed his muscles. It was coming.

"There's one in the drawer next to the refrigerator."

The back of his neck tingled as he turned toward the kitchenette. Traffic sounds drowned out any sound but he was sure someone else was there. A faint whiff of—

With a rush of air, someone charged him and seized his arms from behind. "Run!" Neal yelled and kicked out wildly. Someone else covered his head with a cloth hood.

He felt a prick to his arm as he struggled to free himself. Strong hands seized his neck, choking him. He coughed. A fist slammed into his solar plexus, knocking the breath out of him. He was clinging to consciousness by a thread. He'd expected Klaus to be nicer . . .

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It took Peter only a second to realize what had awakened him. He had his cell set to vibrate, and its angry buzz on the glass top of the nightstand demanded attention. The alarm clock displayed twelve fifteen.

"What happened?" he whispered, holding the phone to his ear as he got out of bed. El hadn't stirred and he strode outside the room, closing the door softly behind him. Jones wouldn't be calling except in an emergency. His stomach had already twisted into a clenched knot before he heard Jones's confirmation.

"It's Neal."

Peter jogged down the staircase. He'd left his laptop in the study and he went there to hear out how bad it was.

"The surveillance van saw him leave Bianka's building at ten forty-five. He walks home from her place. It takes fifteen minutes tops."

Peter knew the distance was a short one. According to the protocol they'd established, Neal was to call once he arrived home.

"When the van hadn't heard anything after thirty minutes, they called him and were put straight through to voicemail. They contacted backup personnel to check Neal's apartment. The team's over there now. The clothes he wore are on the bed, as well as his two phones, watch, wallet, and keys. The terrace door was open. I'm heading over."

"I'll meet you there."

Peter looked up to see El standing in the doorway. Her arms were crossed, her hands clutching her robe even though the house was warm. "It's Neal, isn't it?"

"He's been taken. That's all I know for now. Jones has dispatched agents to keep watch outside our house."

"You'll keep me updated?"

He kissed her. "We're in this together. I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything."

* * *

 _Notes: And your next update will come in Chapter 5: Swept Away. Neal was already having difficulties with faking PTSD symptoms which became disturbingly real. The situation worsens next week._

 _I've added pins to the Caravaggio works mentioned in this chapter on the Pinterest board. This story is not the first time the Italian artist has been featured in Caffrey Conversation. I've been finding parallels between his works and Neal since The Woman in Blue. They're the subject of my blog post this week: "Caravaggio in Caffrey Conversation."_

 _Did Henry really escape Python's clutches with only a little embarrassment? That's hard to believe. And why did she contact her assistant Marta? There will be more about that in a later chapter._

 _If you'd like to take a break from the tension in The Musicians, I heartily recommend a collection of fluffy stories written by Penna Nomen for the Chocolate Box Exchange! They're currently posted anonymously, but the names will be announced on February 21. You can find the full list in her profile starting on that date. I offered to beta them so I could get advance peeks and now it's sooooo hard to resist giving spoilers for them. I'll have more information about the stories next week._

 _I'm not the only one who has a difficult time avoiding spoilers. Penna wrote about them for the blog this week in a post called "I Like Spoilers."_

 _Happy Anniversary, Penna! I posted this chapter on February 20, the 5th anniversary of our writing partnership. We're looking forward to another year of spinning ideas, scheming plot twists, reviewing each other's stories, and laughing over typos. Thank you for coming along on the adventure with us!_

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Musicians board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	5. Swept Away

**Chapter 5: Swept Away**

 **White Collar Task Force. Thursday, October 13, 2005.**

"Bianka claims Neal left her apartment around eight o'clock after only staying a few minutes," Tricia said. "That refutes the surveillance van report, not that I told her that."

Peter took a sip of cold coffee from the mug which had been on his desk since he arrived at work. Jones had phoned him ten hours ago. During that time, Bianka had been brought in for questioning, and her apartment was searched. The only non-standard item found was the bug detector Neal had mentioned. They also confiscated the drawings she'd made of Neal. The professed claim that they were evidence was dubious, but Peter couldn't bear the thought of her having them.

Tricia was in his office with an update after having spent the past hour questioning her.

"I reviewed the feed from the surveillance cameras in Neal's loft," Peter said. "It was Jacek who disguised himself as Neal. He had a mask and wig on. I can understand why the surveillance agents were fooled. He used an electronic device to disable the alarm at the front door when he entered the mansion. It looks like the same one used on my door. Jacek shed Neal's clothes and items then left by the terrace."

"Neal might have been abducted as soon as he arrived at Bianka's apartment," Tricia noted. "Possibly long before the monitoring team saw the man they thought was Neal leave."

"There's a service entrance on the back of the building. One of the teams reported that some tenants were moving out and had rented a small truck. Neal could have been hidden within a wardrobe box."

"Bianka is playing the innocent card," Tricia said. "She cried throughout my questioning, every inch the distraught girlfriend. The only evidence we have is from the surveillance of her at the museum and restaurant, none of which we can use without exposing our operation. What about Jacek?"

"Agents knew he'd gone to Bianka's building. They assumed he was meeting with her and Neal. No one saw him leave her place. He returned to his hotel room at two a.m. For the moment, he hasn't been brought in, but he's under constant observation. He'll be arrested later in the morning. We delayed, hoping we'd first be able to trace a call."

"We won't be able to hold Bianka longer than twenty-four hours," she warned. "She's requested a lawyer."

Peter swiveled his chair at the knock on his door. He could see Henry standing outside and called him in.

Henry had returned home the previous evening from London, but the exhaustion on his face wasn't due to jetlag. Peter had called him from Neal's apartment around three that morning. Peter wished he had better news for him. Tricia's report contained little that was new.

"Where do you think Neal is?" Tricia asked.

Henry exhaled slowly. "I'd like to think close by. We've been operating on the theory that Rolf and Klaus wanted to keep Neal in place. Were we wrong?"

"I don't believe so," she said, "but Python may have different priorities. We've suspected there could be friction between the Mansfelds and Python. Now that you've met her, what's your assessment?"

Henry rubbed the stubble on his chin for a moment. "She was charming, I'll give her that . . . and utterly ruthless. I may have been affected by all the snakes which were surrounding us. They're coldblooded. She struck me as being the same way."

"You spent hours with her," Peter pointed out. "You couldn't have just discussed snakes."

"Generally it was safe topics. She talked about Chester and the antique discoveries she'd made. The Win-Win techs reviewed the recording and verified her knowledge of antiques. I assumed she knew about my job at Win-Win. I portrayed myself as working in the marketing department for software sales, which is true as far as it goes."

"Do you think her purpose in inviting you to her room was simply to make out?" Tricia asked skeptically.

"I didn't see what else she had to gain from it," he said. "Everything I was wearing or carrying has been examined. She didn't leave any diabolical device."

Peter's eyes moved to the computer display when a soft beep alerted him to an incoming email. "It's from Neal! One of his personal email accounts—Nick Halden's. The subject line has one word: _Friday_." As he described the email, he opened the message. Tricia and Henry stood behind him to read over his shoulders.

 _Tomorrow. Noon. Leave the Federal Building and walk east on Worth Street. Come alone._

Worth Street was just north of the office complex. There was one image attached to the email. Peter downloaded it and ran a virus scan on it before viewing it. Tricia and Henry didn't speculate on what it would be. They didn't need to. Peter already knew it would be an image of Neal, perhaps being tortured, which would indicate nothing. Rolf had doctored photos before. He braced himself to open it.

"Isn't that one of the playing cards you found in San Diego?" Tricia asked, staring at the graphic.

Peter nodded. "It's from the _Call of Cthulhu_ card game. We found it in Neal's hotel room when he was abducted." The card showed a man in a suit entangled in octopus tentacles. His arms were outreached toward the observer as if pleading for help. The man bore an uncanny resemblance to Neal.

Henry took a breath. "Rolf's using Azathoth's calling card."

"It's a natural gambit," Tricia said. "Rolf believes we haven't identified him."

Peter took a breath. "We've been urging Rolf to make an offer for months. I expect I'll finally get it."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Sara half-expected to see Mozzie waiting on the doorstep by the time she arrived at her apartment building. When she told him she'd be home at six, she hadn't allowed for the massive traffic jam which brought her bus to a standstill. It gave her plenty of time to puzzle over why he wanted to see her. Her best guess was a script revision. Mozzie liked using her as a sounding board for his story ideas, and she was happy to oblige. She'd enjoyed working with him on the script for Henry's film and was enough of a movie buff to recognize talent when she saw it. Mozzie could make a name for himself in screenwriting, not that he'd want his own name to be famous, of course.

By the time the door buzzer sounded, she'd already changed from heels to comfortable flats. She hoped to coax him to stay for dinner. They could go out or call in. The evenings had been lonely since Neal had stopped visiting.

"I brought liquid libations," Mozzie said when he walked in. He peered around the living room curiously as he handed her a wine bag. "So this is your hideaway."

 _Hideaway? An odd choice of word._ "I'm subletting it from a friend who has a temporary assignment in London," Sara explained. "Would you like me to show you around?"

"I already see the room I'm looking for." He headed straight for her small kitchen. "We'll need two glasses."

Sara opened the cabinet where she kept her barware. "It was kind of you to bring wine but I always keep a supply on hand."

"I'm sure you do, but this is a special variety—one of my honey wines. It's called Ohelo Sunset. A Chardonnay glass will do admirably."

Sara wasn't familiar with the variety. And why did he think she was well stocked? Perhaps she was being overly suspicious. He may have assumed she liked wine based on their weekend in Cape May. "Is that blend particularly suitable for script-plotting?"

He gave her a sharp glance. "Very astute. And for calmness. You'll need both."

She grew uneasy. It could simply be a major addition to Henry's movie but her heart warned her it was something else.

He uncorked the bottle with the corkscrew she supplied and poured out two glasses. Handing her one of them, he nodded toward the couch in the living area. "Is that where Professor Plum does his scheming?"

Sara stared at him in shock, unable to disguise her surprise. She knew Mozzie was brilliant but they'd been so careful. She didn't think anyone had guessed that she and Neal had given themselves code names from the game _Clue_.

He took a seat and patted the cushion next to him. "Come sit beside me, Miss Scarlet, and don't worry, your secret is safe."

"How did you find out?" she stammered.

"It wasn't your fault or Neal's, although I first suspected I was being played when we were on the sailboat. Do you remember when Neal had a brief attack of seasickness?"

"I thought it might be the curse," she admitted.

"I did too. And that's what led to your initial unmasking. Your expression betrayed a concern which was more than that of a team member. My next _clue_ arrived when I was staying at Neal's loft the week the evil goddess Astrena had him in her clutches."

"When he was dreaming of Goya?"

He nodded. "He didn't only dream of Goya. You were in his thoughts as well. Even though he was speaking Spanish, it wasn't difficult for me to follow the breadcrumbs." He chuckled. "Or should I say clues? Actor names would be appropriate for the con. I assume Alicia refers to Alicia Silverstone in the movie _Clueless_ and Matthew is based on Matthew Macfadyen in _Pride and Prejudice_?"

Sara exhaled. "Right again. The matchmakers thought we were clueless about our love lives, so we decided to have fun with it. You're the first to expose us." She took a hasty gulp of wine. "I assume Neal knows."

"No, and that's why I'm here. I wouldn't have said anything ordinarily, but it's important for you to know that I'm on your side. You can trust me . . . just like I trust you."

A sense of dread filled her heart. "Why did you come?" she whispered.

"Neal's been abducted. He was taken last night."

"It finally happened," she said mechanically, her hand beginning to shake despite her efforts to control it. Mozzie took the glass from her before the wine spilled. "Do they have any idea where he's being held?"

"No. I met with the suit in the park by the Federal Building. His concern for me was touching. He even offered me Bureau protection, as if I'd accept." Mozzie explained the little they knew about the circumstances.

She grasped his hand. "Thank you for telling me."

"Neal's counting on us, and you have an important part to play. You've been using _Clue_ to plot your strategy. It's time we do the same. Did you give me a name?"

"We couldn't leave you out. You're Reverend Green."

"An excellent choice." He glanced toward the bookcase. "Where do you keep the game board?"

"I'll get it." She stood up, glad for the opportunity to walk out her nerves. Neal expected to be taken she reminded herself as she opened a drawer in the entertainment center. He hadn't told her in advance when he and Henry thought they'd be abducted by Vincent Adler, but this time he'd warned her of the risk. He was counting on her not falling apart at the news, and she wasn't going to let him down. She was immensely grateful to Mozzie for telling her. Peter probably wouldn't. Why should he? She placed the box on the cocktail table and lifted the lid.

"Have some more wine. Neal drank copious amounts of this blend upon his return from Los Angeles. It worked miracles."

"I could use one right now," she admitted, taking a healthy sip. "Okay, Reverend Green, what do you propose?" She could kiss him for providing her something to focus on.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag. "As I suspected, you've been playing with the original pieces. For a con this elaborate, we'll need additional players. Luckily I have a later version with many additional characters. We may need them all."

Neal had told her how Mozzie taught him to compartmentalize any fear and tension accompanying a job by reducing the components to a board game. She now had a better understanding of how it worked. _Clue_ used to be a lighthearted pastime. Now it was the means to help Neal. As she picked up the Professor Plum piece, she felt a connection to him that no one—not Rolf, Klaus, Bianka, Python, or anyone else—could sever.

"You hold onto the Professor for now," he advised unnecessarily as she clutched him even tighter. "We start with the known. Rolf I'll designate as Prince Azure. He's most likely in New York. That invitation Peter received? Rolf's been yearning for a face-to-face for months. I predict it will be tomorrow. We'll place Rolf in the Library on the game board."

"Will Klaus be with him?"

"Unlikely. They're too clever to travel together. Klaus is probably far away. We'll use the Monsieur Brunette piece for him. He'll be in the Ballroom. As for Python . . ." He eyed the various game pieces, picking up first one then the other. "She shall be Lady Lavender." Mozzie placed her in the Lounge.

As Sara studied the plastic figures, possibilities emerged. "Peter should be Sergeant Gray. He'll meet with Rolf." She moved his piece to the Library next to Rolf's avatar.

"Henry's already met Python. I assume you picked Colonel Mustard for him?" At Sara's nod, he placed the yellow figure next to Lady Lavender in the Lounge then studied the board. "It's now time for the Professor."

"Where is he?" Sara asked anxiously, growing immersed in the game unfolding in front of her. If she could reduce the abduction to a game of _Clue_ , she'd be better able to control the fear which continued to lap at her nerves.

Mozzie was eyeing her steadily through his glasses. "You already know the answer. With Monsieur Brunette in the Ballroom."

Sara held back, uncomfortably reluctant to place the piece on the board. Mozzie was right. Neal was most likely with Klaus, but she couldn't be the one to place him there.

Mozzie appeared to understand. "You'll allow me?" He gently unwrapped her fingers to take the Professor from her. Sara chided herself for being ridiculous. It was only a game piece.

"I'll place as much distance as possible between him and Monsieur Brunette," Mozzie assured her, "but they'll both need to be in the same room."

"What about us?" she asked.

"Ah, you're beginning to see our advantage. Excellent! We're the wild cards. We're not associated with any of the hostiles on the board." He picked up the figures for Miss Scarlet and Reverend Green and placed them at the entrance to the Ballroom. "It's up to us to check on Neal." His expression grew serious. "I'm not concerned that Klaus will injure him physically, but mentally?" He shrugged. "Doctor Penfold is likely on hand to provide reinforcement. Did Neal ever tell you about a second trigger?"

"No," she blurted, aghast at the thought. "You mean some other object was planted in his mind in addition to _The Astronomer_?"

"That's right. Neal's therapist had never heard of a second trigger being used in virtual reality mind control, but that doesn't negate the possibility."

"But we have no idea where Klaus is holding him."

"We have a start. The Ballroom is a placeholder for the actual location while we make contingency preparations. Once it's pinpointed, will you be able to accompany me? We may only have an hour's notice."

Sara didn't need time to consider. She had no urgent case, and even if she did, she'd make an excuse. She nodded. "I'll alert the office."

"Good. We're the only ones who can do it. Peter and Henry most certainly are already being tailed. They can't disappear off grid like us. I've already spoken with Richard and Janet. They stand ready to help us with disguises."

Mozzie's girlfriend Janet was a costume designer who worked on Broadway productions. She had ready access to wigs and costumes of all descriptions, and Sara already was familiar with Richard's expertise from the U-boat con. "How will we know what to take?"

"If we can't determine it in advance, we may have to buy or steal the appropriate clothes," he admitted. "Janet will be most helpful with wigs. Richard's offered to meet with us tomorrow night. We'll also wear disguises while traveling. We may wish to take props for a few standard characters to have in reserve."

Sara nodded, keeping a firm grip on herself. Mozzie was showing his trust in her. She was determined to prove herself worthy of it. "Does Peter know about your plans?"

He frowned. "All in due time. It's possible Rolf will use truth serum on him. Personally, I doubt it, but we can't take the risk. You should prepare your emergency kit immediately and start thinking of an alias. I'll provide the passports."

"Where do _you_ think Neal is?" she asked.

He hesitated. "Everyone believes that the Mansfelds want Neal in New York, but Ydrus's initial operations were all in Europe. Neal is likely either close to New York or somewhere in Europe. When he and Peter were abducted last year, they were taken to New Jersey. Somehow I doubt Rolf will be as considerate this time."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Where are you taking me?" Peter demanded.

"You'll find out shortly, sir." The chauffeur opened the door of the black limo and gestured for him to enter.

Peter paused to scan the empty backseat before he slid inside. He'd left the Federal Building as instructed and walked one block north to Worth Street. The Lincoln was parked two blocks away. As Peter drew near, the chauffeur stood up and held a sign which displayed Peter Gilman in large letters. That was his surname in the Arkham Files stories. Any lingering doubt over who was calling the shots vanished.

The driver refused to tell him where he was going. Shades had been pulled on the windows of the limo, and one-way glass separated Peter from the driver. No attempt was made to remove his watch. He assumed Rolf had jamming devices in place to prevent any signal from entering or escaping.

After a drive of twenty minutes, the car stopped, and a valet opened the door for him. Peter recognized the name of the restaurant on the awning. Pumblechook's was a newly opened restaurant on the Upper East Side. He remembered El mentioning a review. Supposedly it recreated the atmosphere of a Victorian reading club and was reputed to have the best steaks in Manhattan. A gesture from Rolf that he knew what Peter's favorite food was?

When he entered the restaurant, the maître d' didn't ask for his name but simply requested that Peter follow him to the wine cellar. It was situated in the back along with several other private rooms. The maître d' closed the door behind Peter when he walked in.

The small room was lined with racks of wine bottles. A bookcase contained a selection of newspapers and leather-bound volumes. Grouped around the polished walnut table were four chairs. Sitting in the one facing the door was Rolf Mansfeld.

When Peter entered, he rose from his seat and strode over to shake his hand. "After all this time, a genuine pleasure." Rolf looked relaxed and confident as if he was welcoming a colleague to a business lunch. An open bottle of Chateau Lafite Rothschild and two glasses were on the table near his chair.

Peter's smile was not as warm. "I'm glad to see you finally stepped out from behind the curtain, Rolf."

His foe must have been shocked that Peter already knew he was alive, but the only sign he made was a slight narrowing of his eyes. Rolf gestured for Peter to take a seat. This was Peter's first time to hear his voice, or was it? Rolf spoke with a slight British accent. The deep tones reminded Peter of the voice he and Neal heard when they'd been abducted to the house in New Jersey. He'd suspected Rolf had directed the staging. This could be the confirmation that he'd also cast himself to play a key role.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" Rolf asked. "Or do you prefer beer?"

"Wine will do. Lately, I've expanded my tastes. How's Neal?"

"You have no need to be concerned," he said pouring him a glass.

"Permit me to disagree. Do you have any proof?"

"All in good time." Rolf refilled his glass and took a sip in a possible signal the wine hadn't been drugged. "Neal will be returned unharmed once we've concluded negotiations. I gather you're interested in working for me. Am I misinformed?"

"No, your analysis is correct," Peter confirmed.

"Why would such a respected Bureau agent be willing to shift sides?"

Peter swirled the glass before taking a slow sip, a trick he learned from Neal to make the mark wait for his answer. Peter had been preparing to answer that question for months. Finally, it was the playing field he wanted—just him and Rolf. "Don't waste my time. Here's what I'm willing to offer. Neal and I will execute the occasional job for you if it meets our criteria. We will _not_ in any way, shape, or form be involved in the arms trade. Neal works under my supervision and will continue to do so. Anything you want of him, you come through me."

"What makes you think you can make demands like that?"

"I assume you've seen what he's like. Thanks to whatever you pulled in Los Angeles, Neal's head is so full of crazy notions, he can't think straight. You know the bond that exists between him and me. Your stunts have made him more dependent on me than ever. You want his expertise. You want his connections. Without my help, Neal is worthless to you. You either work with us, or you'll come away with nothing."

Rolf didn't respond immediately. Peter was so in the moment, he could have continued, but he reined in the urge. Neal had warned him not to overplay it.

"Does this agreement you intend to execute include forgeries?"

Peter nodded. "Within reason. I would assume a successful partnership would include several high-value forgeries per year."

"I'll consider your proposal. In the meantime, to ensure fruitful negotiations, I expect Bianka and Sandor to be released."

"You mean Jacek?"

At that, Rolf's lips twitched into a half-smile. "Precisely."

"In exchange, I want to be able to speak to Neal."

"That can be arranged." Rolf stood up. "Our business is concluded for the moment. I'll be in touch. The limo is yours for the return trip." He nodded toward the door in a signal for Peter to leave. All the questions that were sputtering inside Peter's brain would remain there. This was merely the opening volley. The hard sell would come in round two.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal regained consciousness slowly, his mind gradually becoming aware of sensations. Thinking was difficult. He suspected he'd been drugged. It was robbing him of the will to do anything.

He was lying on a soft bed with silk sheets. For an abduction which started badly, it concluded fairly well. He had a slight headache and probably a few bruises from being used as a punching bag but no other aches. Neal didn't move as he listened for sounds. A faint scent of lemon oil indicated the furniture had been polished recently. The room was on the cool side but he didn't detect the hum of an air-conditioner. No sounds of anyone breathing or rustling of paper. He decided to risk a peek.

He was in a large bedchamber. The expansiveness of the dimensions and high ceiling indicated a manor or mansion. His four-poster bed was crowned with a rose silk canopy. The oriel windows were embellished with gothic trefoil tracery. An easel and various art supplies had been installed in an alcove. A symbolic gesture or did Klaus intend for the room to be his studio?

Neal tossed back the sheet. Someone had clad him in silk pajamas. His legs felt weak as he stood for a moment, resting his hand on the bed for balance. He assumed he was being watched. He focused on the pain in his back, a constant dull ache. Was it actually there? He'd been faking it for so long, it seemed genuine. His head was too leaden to care.

He turned to survey the other side of the room and stopped in shock. Hanging on the wall was _Nocturne in Black and Gold_ , the Whistler painting they believed Klaus had stolen in Los Angeles. It had hung in Neal's bedroom in the virtual reality world programmed by Rolf and now it was here, prominently displayed.

Without warning, his head split apart as a thousand images ricocheted in his mind. Scenes of the Met, Bianka, Klaus, Peter, Jones. They were pulverizing thought, scrambling logic. Neal's chest constricted in a vice. The images were slicing his lungs. He gave a ragged gasp as he sank to his knees.

The second trigger. The Whistler.

The images careened ever faster, spinning in all directions. What had Jacob said? Puzzle pieces . . . Silver . . . The voices were all screaming at him. He flailed to find something solid to hold onto. Nothing made sense. Peter . . .

Strong hands grabbed his shoulders. "Can you hear me? Neal, answer me!"

Neal struggled to focus on the shape crouched in front of him. Images zipped by. He reeled backward before they struck him in the face.

"Don't you know who I am? Try to remember! Please, think!"

Through the blur a face emerged. "Klaus!" Neal shrank back, terrified. "You're not real!" _But he is real. I know that, or is this a dream?_

"Yes, I am!" Klaus placed his arms around him and hauled him close. "You're safe now. Shhh. You're safe."

Klaus's voice echoed what Neal heard inside his head. He clung helplessly to the man as the images whipped around him.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Why didn't . . . Bianka . . . tell me?" Neal's words were scattered leaves floating on a pond. Stringing them together wasn't worth the effort, but there was something else he'd meant to include.

When Klaus pointed to the teacup, he obediently took another sip. Lemon ginger with a spoonful of honey. Honey . . . Mozzie popped into his head. _Don't drink the tea. You may become very small. Or will you be tall? I must check with Alice._

"She was worried you were suffering from some sort of psychosis." Klaus was speaking painfully slowly, but Neal had difficulty in following his words. "She was afraid you might have a nervous breakdown. She asked me what to do. I was leery of getting involved. If you saw me alive, wouldn't that increase your confusion?"

Neal blinked, trying to make Klaus less blurry. Whistler's painting was still acting on him. He felt like he'd lost days of his life. Maybe he had.

When the chaos began to clear, Klaus was sitting beside him on the small sofa in his bedroom. He was in a dream world where everything was in slow motion. After the earlier frenzied bombardment of images, the relaxed pace was a relief. There was no reality—only vague sensations. Images continued to slowly drift in and out.

Was he inside another virtual reality program? In Los Angeles, he'd never questioned where he was or stopped to analyze the scenes he was presented with. Neal looked down at his hands. They appeared real. Start with that. Add the puzzle pieces around them.

Memories were puzzle pieces. Who said that? He could have cried in relief when he remembered. Shift the pieces till they snapped in place. He could do this. Jacob had given him the tools. Peter was relying on him. The team trusted him. Neal tried to conjure up their faces but they were vague shadows compared to the reality of Klaus. How could he fit puzzle pieces together when he couldn't see their shapes?

The hysteria he'd first experienced had faded. On one level, Neal had already known Klaus was alive but his brain continued to tell him something else.

Klaus had patiently gone over how he and Rolf faked their deaths. Neal asked Klaus to repeat the tale several times while he forced himself to process the signals the painting was broadcasting. Klaus was not only beside him but inside his head. He could hear both voices, telling him different accounts. The inner Klaus was telling how he knew Neal was in love with Bianka. He was reassuring him the aborted theft hadn't been discovered. Bianka had been working with Klaus to rescue him.

"Neal, are you listening?"

Obediently he nodded. He didn't have the strength or will to do anything else.

"Sandor was in town," Klaus said, his eyes boring into Neal's. "We were worried about Bianka's health and yours too. I enlisted his assistance."

"Jacek disguised himself as Sandor?"

He smiled, some of the tension leaving his face. "Good. I worried I was showering you with too much information. Jacek was my eyes and ears. He wouldn't let anything happen to you. He stopped the theft at the museum and hid you till we could evacuate you."

"I still don't understand what happened," Neal admitted. "The theft seemed so straightforward. All I needed to do was dismantle the security system, and remove the painting from the wall. What went wrong?"

"From the reports we received, you were suffering hallucinations. Rolf suspects Jones was drugging you."

Neal stared at him, horrified.

"He was sneaking a hallucinogenic into your coffee," Klaus added.

"Like LSD?"

"Could be. I had a sample of your blood drawn."

 _You can trust me. Everything I tell you is true_. Klaus's voice resonated in Neal's skull, instructing him how to behave. All he had to do was listen to the voice. Neal closed his eyes, imagining Peter inside his head, Sara, Mozzie, anyone else. Not Klaus.

"I should let you rest."

Neal opened his eyes. "No, I was just trying to make sense of what happened." He felt the crook of his elbow where a gauze pad had been taped in place. "Do you have the results yet?"

"It will take another day or two."

"Where am I?"

"I've already told you," he said patiently. "You're safe now, well protected."

"I can't simply disappear. Peter will worry. He needs to be warned about Jones. He could strike Peter too. I have my job, my classes."

"Calm yourself. Until the drug is out of your system, it's too risky to let you return. As for Peter, Rolf is in communication with him. You'll be able to talk to him soon."

It was getting difficult to keep his eyes open. Was his tea drugged? How come Klaus wasn't showing any reaction? An image of a man wearing a white coat popped into his head. Neal could see the needle plunge into his arm. When he rubbed the spot, he could feel the outline of a bandage. Was that proof it had happened or was he still dreaming? Neal had the sensation that this scene had already been reenacted several times but he couldn't remember the details. Everything was fuzzy.

Klaus was repeating what he'd told Neal earlier. How he should relax and let himself heal. No harm had been done. The Met didn't know anything about the attempted theft. Jacek had removed all the evidence. Peter had verified that no one suspected Neal had tampered with the security software.

It would be so easy to believe he actually had attempted the theft and that Jacek and Bianka had rescued him. In his mind he was going for _The Lute Player_ , the painting Bianka had referred to at the Met. She must have been given the script and was instructed to reinforce the image of the painting. They'd fled to the roof, but Neal had a panic attack at the thought of climbing down the side of the building.

"You're falling asleep," Klaus murmured. "Time to return to bed. When you wake up, you'll feel better."

"When can I see Bianka?" he mumbled as Klaus wrapped his arm under Neal's armpits and helped him stand. The world tilted sideways. Klaus needed to grab hold of him to keep him from falling.

"Soon, but don't you want to be in better shape for her?" He steered Neal to the bed.

"Jones did this to me?"

"Yes, now rest."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Klaus left the bedchamber, he reset the alarm. Before heading downstairs, he checked in with the guards in the adjoining room. A bank of monitors displayed the various surveillance feeds. Klaus paused at the one aimed at the bed. Neal appeared to be already asleep.

Klaus fished in his pocket for his cell phone and texted Anya for her location. She replied that she was in the conservatory and had a surprise waiting for him. The conservatory was in the back of the castle. He hoped the long walk would give him enough time to formulate a strategy.

He should be feeling on top of the world. Neal was back and trusting him once more. The cub looked to him for guidance exactly as Klaus had longed for and displayed no anger for being tricked into believing Klaus had died at the Met.

Rolf had insisted that Neal's deteriorating condition demanded the use of the second trigger. There had always been a slight risk of memories seeping through, and Rolf had prepared contingency measures. The Whistler painting was designed to only be activated if an extraction was necessary.

Klaus had argued that Neal should be left in New York. Using the second trigger when Neal was already displaying signs of emotional instability was foolhardy. But he'd been unable to convince Anya. Rolf was on Anya's side. Klaus's pleas to first try approaching Neal in New York fell on deaf ears.

Penfold had assured Klaus that Neal's physical issues would cease once Klaus revealed himself. He'd lied. Penfold had promised that Neal's personality would be unaffected. More lies. Neal's hands were shaking so much, he had difficulty holding the teacup. And the grimace he made when Klaus helped him stand up? That damned procedure had torn him apart.

Now Penfold warned that Neal was exhibiting signs of schizophrenia. The doctor claimed that the program wasn't at fault and that he hadn't been told of Neal's earlier emotional issues. That was nonsense. Rolf assured Klaus that he'd reviewed Neal's acrophobia with Penfold at the very beginning. Nothing the doctor said could be trusted. He'd lied repeatedly. He'd continue to do so. But the knowledge came too late. The damage had already been done.

The sick man in the bedroom was a far cry from the kid he'd known in Geneva. Klaus should never have agreed to the procedure in the first place. What kind of monster was he?

He stopped for a moment in the corridor, the bile rising in his throat. Diana's picture of him as the unthinking leopard Sornoth was accurate. Sornoth had maimed Neal on Merope, infected him with an alien drug. Wasn't Klaus doing the same now? Poisoning him with whatever drugs Penfold dispensed?

Klaus needed to act immediately before the damage became irreversible, and for that he'd have to convince Anya to disregard Penfold's advice.

Her conservatory overlooked the valley below. Built into a tower, the walls were entirely of glass. When Klaus entered, she was standing next to one of the reptile terrariums she kept among the plants. Klaus had heard the staff complain that the snake quarters were more luxurious than theirs.

"Come meet your namesake," she said and picked up a python from the enclosure.

Klaus seethed at the sight. Leopard spots? Was that necessary? She'd mentioned she had a new pet, joking that since he'd gotten one, she needed one as well. Klaus resented the implication of her denigrating Neal into pet status. She had no understanding of what Neal meant to him.

"This handsome fellow is a leopard python. I thought you'd be pleased." The snake coiled itself around her arm. "Now when you're off thieving with Neal, I'll have a stand-in." She raised her arm to kiss the python on the top of his head. "You'll be my little Leopard."

Klaus choked back his resentment. He'd chosen his sobriquet. Now she was mocking him with it. How could he have ever believed he was in love with her? He'd given up Chantal for this? He, Neal and Chantal had been a family. Anya was incapable of understanding what that meant.

Was Bianka as unfeeling as her sister? She'd conned Neal to fall in love with her, and Penfold's programming had reinforced his attachment. Neal would suffer the same fate as Klaus—an impotent plaything of the Kaldy sisters.

"I hope you're pleased now that you have your protégé back with you," Anya said casually, seemingly unaware of his churning emotions. "Penfold is ready to reprogram Neal tomorrow."

"You can't be serious!"

Her face hardened. "Don't act surprised. That was always the intention. Check with your brother if you've forgotten. Rolf signed off on it months ago. You should support my decision. The longer Neal's away from Columbia and the FBI, the harder it will be to reintegrate him." She softened her voice. "It's for his benefit, too. All his doubts and fears will be removed. Penfold has used the same program on several of our operatives with outstanding results."

 _If you like subservient robots._ Neal's personality would be destroyed. Was Anya right that Rolf knew about this or was it a bluff? Surely he wouldn't have agreed to it, and Klaus knew he never had. "Neal hasn't recovered yet from the earlier program. He's limping. His back bothers him. His hands are trembling. I don't know if he can paint."

"He better," she warned in a low voice.

"And he will," Klaus hastened to add. Anya's patience was nearing an end. If she thought Neal had no value, she wouldn't hesitate to eliminate him. "Give me time to work with him. A second procedure won't be necessary."

She frowned as she let the snake wrap itself around her arm. "I'll consider it, but he'll need to continue on the medication."

"That could be part of the problem."

"You're not the doctor. With all Penfold's test subjects, the treatment has been much more effective if they were medicated. The drug suppresses their resistance but is not harmful. I believed your claims about Neal's ability. Sedated, he poses no risk of escape." She turned her back on him and gently placed the python back on a branch. He wished she showed as much care with humans.

"But I'll discuss Neal's situation with Penfold," Anya said. "A modification in the dosage may be acceptable."

There was no surety in her words. They were designed purely to placate him. Klaus strode out of the conservatory and down the stairs, grabbing a jacket from the coat rack. Rolf wasn't here to provide advice. And even if he were here, he might not have Neal's interests at heart. He hadn't told Klaus about the second procedure. What else had he concealed?

* * *

 _ _Notes: The second trigger is not only acting on Neal. Klaus is also experiencing doubts. Guilt-ridden over his actions, he's angry at Anya and Penfold. He even begins to criticize Rolf._ I wrote about Klaus for this week's blog post: "Klaus Mansfeld: A Rude Awakening." _

_The Clueless con is on hold for a while but once it resumes, there will be a new player. It seems fitting to have Mozzie, the master gamer, be the first one to figure out the con. Now that he's become a participant, he'll likely make some creative suggestions. Thanks to a reader for mentioning that Neal, despite his complaints about matchmakers, has indulged more than once in the same activity. He introduced Richard and Travis as well as Michael and Angela. Neal was also a factor for other couples getting together, including Joe and Noelle; Henry and Eric; and Janet and Mozzie. Neal would point out that his matchmaking activities were restricted to making introductions. The couples were on their own for what happened next. Henry's likely response would be "What's the fun in that?" The original catalyst to the Caffrey Conversation matchmaking plots is, of course, Penna. She introduced Jane Austen to the series, created the Jane Austen curse, and linked Neal to Darcy. Some may detect more than a hint of Jane Austen's Emma in Henry's efforts._

 _Was it Henry who sneakily encouraged Penna to write a story featuring Emma for the Chocolate Box Exchange? It would be just like him. Penna's removed the lid to her box of chocolates. You can now read about the stories in her blog post: "Treats from the Chocolate Box." So many delectable choices! In addition to the Jane Austen story "To Be Fond of Dancing," where she captures Austen's style perfectly, there are stories for the White Collar, Psych, Star Trek, The Big Bang Theory, Stargate Atlantis, and The Good Place fandoms. There's also an adorable story about an author and her plot bunny. Links to the all stories are on the Chocolate Box and Other Diversions page of our website._

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Musicians board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	6. Shards of Glass

**Chapter 6: Shards of Glass**

 **Columbia University Campus. Saturday, October 15, 2005.**

"Sara and I are prepared to leave on an hour's notice," Mozzie said. "Just say the word."

When Mozzie arrived early at the telescope class at Columbia University, Peter suspected he had an ulterior motive. They'd been teaching a group of kids the basics of telescope construction for the past month. Normally Peter and Travis handled the setup with Mozzie making his appearance like a visiting rock star after the workshop had already started.

But this time was different. Mozzie was already present when Peter entered the classroom at Pupin Hall. Even more telling, he offered to retrieve the equipment needed to demonstrate the art of mirror grinding.

Peter had been tempted to let others handle the workshop. But he wasn't needed for surveillance duty, and taking time out for a scheduled activity while engaged in a battle of wits with Rolf was exactly what was required. Peter needed to appear to be in control and as ruthless as his potential business partner.

"Mozzie's right to be concerned about another trigger," Travis agreed. "It's been on all our minds."

"You think Neal's overseas," Peter said.

Mozzie held up a mirror to inspect it. "I fear Rolf intends to have Penfold perform his psychological voodoo on Neal once more. The States would be too risky a location for the fugitive witch doctor."

Peter wished he could go with Mozzie. Sara would add a reassuring presence. After her participation in the U-boat con, he considered her to be an auxiliary member of the team, but he was surprised Mozzie felt that way too. Sara had the heart of an adventurer, but in the type of mission Mozzie was advocating, she could quickly get in over her head. Surely she knew enough about Mozzie to know what she was in for. Peter planned to call her to discuss it at the conclusion of class.

"I assume you weren't able to get any data from the meeting with Rolf yesterday?" Mozzie asked Travis.

"None," he conceded gloomily. "He must be carrying a miniature jammer. Peter's watch stopped broadcasting the moment he entered the limo. It didn't resume till he was dropped off at the Federal Building."

"Don't be discouraged," Mozzie said. "He'll make a mistake. They all do."

Mozzie's hopeful words sounded like something Peter would advise. Peter had noticed before that when focused on a job, Mozzie became much more rational. Gone were the wild conspiracy theories. He was almost level-headed. Really quite an amazing transformation.

Rolf had said he'd contact Peter again. That slip-up would happen. Until it did, Peter reined in his emotions as best he could. He could hear Neal in his head. _This is what we planned for. We'll finally be able to end Rolf's games once and for all_.

In the Arkham Files stories, he and Neal could occasionally exchange messages telepathically in times of duress. What he'd give to have that ability now.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The anticipated meeting with Rolf didn't take long to materialize. Peter was walking to his car after the workshop when he saw a black limousine approach. It rolled to a stop beside him. This time, Rolf was sitting in the backseat waiting for him.

Peter opened the door, using the opportunity to press two side buttons on his watch. His watch would now send an alert signal to the lab and also record his conversation.

Rolf was reclining nonchalantly on the camel-leather seat, seemingly completely at ease. "The workshop went well?" he inquired politely.

"It did." Peter reminded himself of the need to be friendly. This was his future business partner, not the enemy. "We're coaching fifteen future astronomers. That's an interest you and I share." While Rolf asked him for details, the chauffeur drove along Riverside Drive.

"Neal wasn't interested in stargazing in Geneva," Rolf said. "I'm glad you introduced him to astronomy. His painting of the three of you stargazing is charming."

It was a brazen move, calculated to remind Peter of how well informed Rolf was about Neal while hoping to rattle him that Rolf was familiar with his house. Peter wasn't about to give him any indication that he was troubled. "You should join us in a session. Is Klaus interested in the stars?" Peter could have used the past tense with Klaus but he opted to do a little cage-rattling on his own. Up to now, the knowledge that the team knew Klaus was alive had been a closely guarded secret.

Rolf adopted Peter's strategy, displaying no hint of surprise. "Like Neal, his interest is only casual. You have the start of a promising art collection. The Renoir is a lovely piece. Do you have any other items?"

Was he fishing for Peter to mention _The Astronomer_ or the Raphael? "The Renoir was for my wife. I prefer paintings with a more scientific bent."

Rolf gave a half-smile. "Then you'll enjoy the task I have in mind. You want to go into business with me, and your credentials are impressive. Consider this a recruitment exercise. Your assignment is to steal Van Gogh's _Starry Night_."

"As soon as Neal is returned safe and unharmed, I'll entertain the idea," Peter hedged. The painting was at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Peter had expected some sort of trial. How fast could Neal prepare a forgery?

"You're the one taking the test, not him. Surely you've picked up some skills from Neal in the years you've worked with him. After you've stolen the painting, Neal will be returned. And this time, there will be no deceptions. No forgeries. Your actions will be monitored throughout the theft."

"But you can't expect me to steal it on my own!" Peter protested.

He shrugged. "Klaus could. Neal could. But I acknowledge our expertise lies in other areas. I'm sure Mozzie will be glad to help. Perhaps you could encourage Neal's cousin Henry to assist."

"Are you interested in him, too?"

"Possibly. If he'd like to go into partnership with us, I'll consider it. This is a good time for him to make up his mind. And it goes without saying that Mozzie will be handsomely rewarded for his services. We've devised a way of making payments which appear to be stock transactions. You can be assured no one in our employ has to worry about financial red flags being hoisted. You and Neal will both be able to keep your jobs. He'll continue to work on his doctorate. As a stargazer, you'll no doubt appreciate moonlighting for us."

Payments via stock transactions. Peter itched to learn how they'd rigged the system. "You said I could speak with Neal."

"And so you shall." Rolf pulled out his phone, tapped a speed-dial number, and placed it on speaker.

"H'lo." The voice who answered sounded like Neal's, but was it? Peter had no choice but to play along.

"Neal, this is Peter. Are you okay?" His outpouring of concern could be genuine. Rolf expected that.

"P'ter?" Neal's voice continued to be slurred. Had he been drugged or was he faking the symptoms? "Did I get you in trouble?"

"Nothing I can't handle. I told the team you relapsed. Getting mono as an adult can be dangerous. Your doctor's ordered you to rest." _I hope that's what you're doing_. Rolf was looking unconcerned and confident. He probably liked the fabricated excuse. Peter decided to chance an audible. "Neal, you remember that item you borrowed from me?"

"When was that?" Damn. He sounded even more slurred.

"In St. Louis."

"Oh, yeah." Peter could hear Neal breathing heavily as if talking was difficult. "T-shirt."

"No need to return it when you get back." He'd told Neal that t-shirt was his to keep, a good luck token for their partnership. Did Neal wonder if Peter was only a figment of his imagination? Peter hoped the injection of the t-shirt, something the Mansfelds didn't know about, would prove to Neal he was real.

"When will that be?" There was a note of desperation in his voice. Was that purely for Rolf's benefit and whoever else was listening in? When they'd discussed with Tricia the possibility of Neal being abducted, she'd advised Neal to act dependent on Peter. If that happened, Tricia had cautioned Peter against appearing overly concerned. They wanted Rolf to believe Peter was encouraging Neal's reliance on him. They assumed Rolf treated Klaus the same way and would appreciate the similarity in techniques.

"Very soon," Peter promised, keeping his voice low-pitched and confident. "I'm in negotiations now."

Rolf held one finger over the end call button and swiped his left hand across his throat.

Peter nodded his understanding. "Take care of yourself, Neal. I'll see you soon."

Rolf ended the transmission. "Are you satisfied that was him on the phone? That nonsense about the t-shirt was I assume meant to assure him it was really you."

"What are you drugging him with?" Peter asked, not answering him.

"Merely a sedative to keep him comfortable. You played your part well. Steal the painting and Neal will return to New York. You'll be able to retrieve that t-shirt. Try to pull a fast one, and you'll never see him again. That's not a threat. It's a promise, and you know me well enough to realize this isn't a bluff."

The chauffeur drove them back to the spot where he'd been picked up. "How can I contact you?" Peter asked.

"Text me at this number." Rolf fished in his pants for his wallet and pulled out a business card. The card was blank with the exception of a preprinted ten-digit number. "I'll get the message."

As soon as Rolf sped off, Peter called Travis. Next on his list were Henry and Mozzie. Those art heist boot camps Neal had held in the summer were about to pay dividends. They agreed to meet at Henry's loft the following morning for their first planning session. Mozzie offered to case out the Museum of Modern Art in advance. The theft would need to appear authentic. Rolf might expect a double-cross, but Peter doubted the subterfuge he had in mind was on Rolf's radar.

 **Anya's Conservatory. Sunday, October 16, 2005.**

"It's your own fault!" Klaus said angrily. "How can you expect any results when you've got Neal so drugged, all he does is sleep." His jaw worked for a moment before he spoke again. "Give him a chance," he pleaded, a note of desperation in his voice.

Anya bit back her retort, not wanting to disclose the extent of her displeasure. Klaus had worked for a year on getting his precious lion cub here and for what? The only result had been heated arguments. She found herself spending increasing lengths of time in the conservatory with her snakes to escape Klaus's constant complaints. She should be focused on the upcoming arms sale to Tajikistan, not forced to listen to his lectures.

"Calm yourself," she urged, forcing herself to adopt a placating tone. "I spoke with Penfold this morning and he agreed to reduce Neal's medication."

Klaus's face dissolved into instant relief. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"It was to be a surprise. You should notice an improvement by dinner." She placed the python on a branch and turned to face Klaus. Softening her voice still further, she added, "There's no need for us to fight about Neal. You're restless to move forward. So am I. Focus on your forgery assignment. You'll both feel better when you've achieved tangible results."

"Once you see Neal's skill, you'll understand why he's such an asset. You'll realize there's no need for Penfold to perform the procedure."

"That decision's already been made," she countered bluntly. "It's scheduled for Wednesday."

His face darkened. "Impossible. It's far too dangerous."

"You forget yourself. I'm being generous to give you so much time. You better spend it with Neal, getting him into shape. There will be no more delays."

She turned her back on him. Let him slam the conservatory door. The insolence of the man. What had she ever seen in him? Would he obey her orders or cause still more issues?

She was glad Penfold had suggested a palliative. The drug Neal had been on since his extraction had been intended to convince Klaus a second procedure was essential, but the side effects had been more extreme than they'd anticipated.

Neal would be less drowsy with the new drug. Klaus would believe the medication had been reduced. He wouldn't attribute Neal's increased schizophrenia to the medication. Penfold had assured her that Neal's hallucinations would increase to the point that Klaus would have no choice but to agree to the procedure.

But what if Penfold were wrong and the symptoms weren't as he'd promised? Worse, Klaus could be too stubborn to recognize the truth. This was not the time to take a chance.

Anya reached for her cell phone and punched a speed dial number.

"Yes?" Rolf's voice was more curt than normal, but she ignored it. Whatever he was working on would have to wait.

"I need you back here. Klaus is making waves. He doesn't want Neal to be reprogrammed."

Rolf didn't reply for a moment. "The situation here is proceeding smoothly, but Jacek can't handle everything on his own. Bianka's untested for this type of work."

"I'll send Marta to replace you. I need you here _now_."

"Very well. Give me a couple of days."

"No longer."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter slammed a fist on Henry's dining table in triumph. "We got her!"

Mozzie reached for the scattered _Monopoly_ pieces. "This better be worth the havoc you caused to my carefully crafted heist scenario."

"It will be," Henry said, staring at Peter eagerly. "Travis got a signal, didn't he?"

Peter nodded, savoring the victory. They'd met at Henry's loft to plan the heist. Travis's call had arrived an hour later. "That lucky break we were hoping for finally happened. Rolf got a call from Joanna's phone a half-hour ago and for once the jammer wasn't on. He may have forgotten to turn it on or it was malfunctioning. That's not important. She was calling from a remote area in Hungary. Travis's team captured the entire conversation." A soft ding from his laptop alerted Peter that the email had come through. "Travis sent me the transcript. You can read it for yourselves."

Mozzie and Henry clustered around his laptop while Peter picked apart every word.

A moment later, Mozzie pulled out his phone and pressed a speed-dial number. "It's on! We'll take the first flight to Budapest."

"Wait a minute," Henry growled. "You're not going without me!"

Peter could hear Sara's excited voice demanding details.

"Call you back," Mozzie muttered.

"Simmer down, everyone," Peter ordered.

"Why?" Mozzie retorted. "Can't Travis pinpoint the location?"

"That's not the issue."

"And you already agreed that Sara and I would go to case out the location. It will take time for you to negotiate arrangements with the police. We'll be your eyes and ears."

"As soon as Travis determines the precise coordinates, I'll give them to you," Peter promised. "I'll also call John Hobhouse in London. He's offered to intercede on our behalf with any European authorities. Henry, you can't go with Mozzie, and you know that. We have to maintain the subterfuge that we're carrying out the heist as directed."

He scowled. "Doesn't Mozzie have the same problem?"

"No one's following me," Mozzie asserted. "They couldn't. Neither Sara nor I will be flying under our real names. Our disguises and passports are already prepared." He turned to Peter. "And don't even think about asking me for details."

Peter was too grateful for Mozzie's offer to make any waves. Those documents were undoubtedly forged. The less he knew about them the better. "Does Sara need me to call her boss?"

"She's already alerted him about the circumstances. Sterling-Bosch is as eager as the Bureau to put Ydrus out of business."

Henry was absently rubbing his chin. "So we steal the Van Gogh while others rescue Neal?"

Peter hedged his response, not wanting to pour salt on the wound. "Timing will be critical. We have Jacek under surveillance. He moved into a hotel in East Harlem. Now that we know Marta's on her way, we'll be on the lookout." He turned to Mozzie. "How do you expect Jacek will monitor the heist?"

"If we stage it after hours, he'll likely use hidden cameras in the galleries. Ydrus has developed ties to local gunrunners. They'll probably provide the reinforcement. When you conduct the heist, Jacek will be in his hotel room watching the feeds."

Mozzie's prediction tallied with Peter's own views. "We have four and a half days to work with. If Ydrus can be stormed beforehand, the heist will be unnecessary."

"We have less time than that," Henry warned. "Python wants to reprogram Neal. Rolf said he'd be there in a couple of days. Let's assume he reaches Budapest by Tuesday evening. Even if Klaus forces a temporary halt, the procedure could start as soon as Rolf arrives."

Henry wasn't telling him anything he didn't know. Peter never thought he'd be forced to pin his hopes on Klaus, but he might be the only one who had a chance of putting the brakes on Python's plans. "We can't afford to give them any suspicion we're onto them," he cautioned. "Henry you'll have to stay here. And Mozzie, before you leave, you'll need to devise a heist that will pass muster with Rolf."

"That's not necessary," he countered. "All the best thieves keep their methods a secret. Rolf won't expect you to cough up the details."

Henry was eyeing Peter speculatively. Did he realize what Peter was planning? Wouldn't he want to do the same thing? Was it even feasible? Assuming Mozzie and Sara left this evening, it would be sometime on Monday before they could be in position. There was no certainty Neal was at the location Python had called from. Until that was verified, the rest of them would have to play along. If Interpol and the Hungarians moved in on Ydrus and Neal wasn't there, they could be signing his death warrant.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal woke up with a choked gasp. He pressed his hands against his forehead in an attempt to erase the images. Another dream about Bianka. He could still hear her voice professing her love for him. He willed himself to think about Sara instead, but the two faces blurred, one transforming into the other.

Nauseated, he flung off the sheets and purged his stomach in the bathroom. After he splashed cold water on his face, he felt marginally better. His short-term memory was still shot from whatever drug they were giving him. He had fuzzy recollections of Klaus being there, urging him to eat, and more needles. His scruff wasn't very long. Maybe he'd shaved, maybe not.

Peter, Henry, Sara, Mozzie . . . nothing came into focus. All he had left were scattered voices in his head. He wasn't shaky, but he couldn't get his mind to cooperate.

So far, he hadn't approached the easel. The oriel windows in the art alcove projected out from the wall as if they'd been built into a turret. The view of the mountains was breathtaking even from his bed, but he had no desire to go any closer. Was he actually afraid or faking it? He couldn't distinguish the two, but stepping close to the windows seemed like a very bad idea. Just thinking about it made him dizzy.

After shaving, he inspected the contents of the armoire. He couldn't remember if this was the first time he'd checked. Klaus probably supervised the wardrobe selection. They suited his style. Neal gazed at the clothes for several minutes. Trying to figure out which items to select took more energy than he would have dreamed possible. Finally he settled on a navy cashmere turtleneck and corduroy jeans. Was he in another virtual reality program? He couldn't be if he were questioning everything, right?

He'd just finished changing clothes when the door opened. That couldn't be a coincidence. He was being watched. And the fact he'd been able to figure it out made him feel better. Peter would like that. Peter . . . Had he spoken with him or merely dreamed it? An image of a cell phone held in front of him swam in his mind. It probably wasn't real. He couldn't recall any of the details.

Klaus walked in, pushing a cart. Neal blinked to focus. "Room service," Klaus announced cheerfully. "You slept through lunch. I hope you're hungry. You look like you're feeling better."

"I am." For some reason, he wanted desperately to please Henry. No, that wasn't right. This was Klaus, not Henry. He sniffed the aroma of fresh coffee coming from the carafe. It would help wake him up. "What are we having?"

"Goulash, cheese, and fruit." Klaus wheeled the cart over to the sofa and beckoned for Neal to sit down.

Nothing seemed very appetizing but he poured himself a cup of coffee. His hand didn't tremble when he held the coffee cup. He'd take that as a small victory. Klaus walked over to the alcove and moved the easel to the center of the room.

"I thought a change of scenery would do us both good," Klaus said. "I'll move two chairs into the alcove. It will almost be like we're dining on a terrace."

Neal's stomach lurched, voicing its revulsion of the notion. "Not a good idea. Not if you want me to eat anything."

"Have you even tried looking out the windows?"

Why was Klaus pressing him? "You know I'm still having issues because of whatever drug Jones gave me," Neal said uneasily. "I have nightmares of being shot . . . of Peter in prison."

"You didn't mention this before." Klaus looked at him with concern and sat down next to him. Peter's face flashed before his eyes. _You can trust me._ Who was next to him? Peter or Klaus? The images began to spin again and Neal hurriedly set his cup down.

"Can you tell me about them?" Klaus asked, seemingly oblivious to the chaos. "I may be able to help."

Anything was better than the vertigo he was now experiencing. In bits and pieces, Neal reviewed the scenes. Of Elizabeth dying in the car crash and his grief over what he'd done. The new nightmares of the botched theft. His longing for Bianka. "I don't know what's real anymore. Kate played me on orders from Adler. Sara pretended to be in love with me while spying for Sterling-Bosch." He stopped abruptly. "You know about the treasure?"

He nodded.

"Klaus, where am I?"

He hesitated for a moment before saying, "At Ydrus headquarters."

Neal stared at him aghast.

Klaus pressed the thumb of his right hand against the tip of his index finger—their old signal that they were being recorded. Neal blinked twice to acknowledge he'd received the message.

"We'll skip eating in the alcove today, but after lunch, I'll take you on a tour. You'll learn you have nothing to fear from Ydrus. It's provided me safe refuge, and it will do the same for you."

When they left the bedroom, Neal noticed without commenting on the elaborate electronic lock. The door to the adjoining room was closed, but a light was on. Guards were monitoring his every move, but he already knew that. Klaus guided their conversation to potential heist targets as they walked. He didn't supply any details about the mansion they were in and Neal knew better than to ask. The elegant wood paneling was in excellent condition. From the little he saw, the initial construction appeared to have been in the early nineteenth century. The goulash made him wonder if they were in Eastern Europe, perhaps Bianka's home of Hungary, but the menu could have been chosen to mislead him.

Klaus steered him to a staircase which led up one flight. Neal trudged the steps slowly, holding onto the rail. He knew he was supposed to be suffering from a back injury, but he couldn't remember how disabling it was supposed to be. The wound—a dull steady ache—seemed real enough.

The floor they exited upon appeared to be the top of the building. They walked down a narrow hall and then into a room apparently built within a turret.

Klaus turned to him. "Now you'll understand why I told you to bring a jacket." He opened a door which led onto a small rooftop terrace perched on the side of a steeply sloped roof.

Neal choked back an exclamation and hastily grabbed the doorframe. A panorama of mountains surrounded him on three sides. Dizziness overwhelmed him. The goulash was threatening to bail . . .

Klaus quickly slipped an arm around his chest. "You have nothing to fear. You know I won't let you come to any harm. Isn't this view worth it?"

 _Not to me._ Hadn't he already confessed his fear of heights? Or was that another dream? Didn't Klaus tell him to fake his fear? Or was that Peter? Snapshots of Henry, Peter, and Klaus danced in front of him. They were all telling him what was real, what to do. _Trust me. You can trust me_. Was he afraid of heights or wasn't he?

Henry was staring at him anxiously, and Neal wanted to reassure him. "I trust you." In an instant, Henry's face was replaced by Klaus's. Neal simply stared at him for a moment. Where was he? Still in virtual reality after all? He wanted to curl up in a ball in the hallway, but Henry wouldn't let him. Peter blocked the door.

Neal staggered, only to be caught by Henry. The image shifted again. Klaus was beside him.

"We'll just go out a few steps." Klaus guided Neal far enough away so that he could close the door. Neal grasped the railing. The cold air blasted his face, forcing him to be alert. Was this how penguins felt on the Mountains of Madness? Why was he thinking of Lovecraft? Was he trapped in some alternate reality? He turned to Peter—he'd be able to explain what was happening. But Peter had vanished.

"Now we can talk, free of being overheard. I've already had the terrace swept, but extra precautions are warranted." Klaus retrieved a small electronic device from his jacket and switched it on. "This will jam any signal."

"I don't understand." Neal's headache increased as he tried to sort out the contradictory statements. "You said we're safe here."

"Ydrus is no friend." Klaus drew close to Neal, his eyes boring into him, "and Bianka is not the innocent you think she is. Her sister is the head of Ydrus. I believe you know her as Python. Her name is Anya Kaldy. Neither she nor Bianka can be trusted."

Neal leaned against the door, his chest heaving. The reaction was only partly fake. Why was Klaus telling him this? Was all this another hallucination?

For the next several minutes, Klaus poured out a confessional that Neal wouldn't have believed him capable of. He admitted everything he'd told Neal earlier was a lie. Jones hadn't drugged him. Klaus explained that an expert in virtual reality mind control had brainwashed him in Los Angeles under Python's orders. He admitted the parts he and Rolf played. There was no back injury. Neal hadn't been in prison. He hadn't tried to steal the painting at the Met.

Klaus's voice was low but his face conveyed an urgency which forced Neal to hang onto every word. Neal knew he should appear distraught and he summoned up a choked curse. It must have sufficed as Klaus looked even more dismayed. He said Neal was still being medicated although he'd pleaded with Python to stop.

"I know it will take time to sink in, but I can't continue with you like this. You need to know the truth. I was blind to the harm I was causing you in my desire to have you work with me again. I hope someday you can forgive me."

Neal studied every inch of Klaus's face. His mind felt clear for the first time since he'd arrived at wherever he was. Either the cold air or the shock of Klaus's confession was reviving him. Neal focused on the feeling, willing it to strengthen. He needed to keep the conversation going before the vertigo returned. "Why did you go into partnership with Ydrus?"

"At the time it seemed like a good idea," Klaus muttered, gazing out at the mountains. "Rolf was in favor of it. Do you remember how I warned you against personal entanglements? I should have listened to my own advice." He fell silent for a moment. "I met Anya during the last year you were in Geneva and fell head over heels in love. Me! The one who lectured you to guard yourself from being ruled by your heart. I fell into the same trap." Klaus's voice had the ring of sincerity. His jaw hardened as he admitted cheating on Chantal. "What I told you about Rolf was true. He was in favor of the partnership with Ydrus. We planned to bring you in."

Neal kept quiet for a minute. He knew he was supposed to be shocked. "Then I returned to the States before you got around to it," he prompted.

He nodded. "That started a domino effect. Chantal left shortly afterward—not that I blame her in any way. I was convinced I was in the ultimate position of power. Rolf was working on software with Jacek and Marta to render security software impotent. Anya provided us with all the financial resources we needed. But we needed an expert forger."

"That's why you approached me in New York."

He nodded. "After I attempted to recruit you, I knew you weren't interested, but Rolf said he had a way to make my dream come true. That dream has turned into a nightmare and you're now living it."

Neal wanted desperately to believe that Klaus was sincere. "What's going to happen now? Can we escape?"

"That's the plan. But we need to do it in such a way that we can keep the art. There are stacks and stacks of paintings which are being held hostage too." He glanced at his watch. "We can't stay out here much longer without provoking suspicion. Anya thinks I'm engaged in therapy to remove your fear of heights." His lips twisted into a lopsided smile which made him look like Henry. "Is it working?"

"I haven't had time to think about falling off a castle," Neal grumbled, attempted to keep it lighthearted.

"Then we need to do more of this." His expression grew serious. "You must do everything you can to fight the fake symptoms the program gave you. Are you aware of your limp?"

Now it was Neal's turn to redden, a technique he'd learned by thinking of himself standing naked in front of Hughes at work. "I'd hoped it wasn't noticeable."

"It's slight," Klaus assured him, "but we need to make it even less. We also need to prove your worth. I have a forgery in mind which you should like."

"What is it?" he asked.

"That Da Vinci you were sketching the first day we met?"

" _Head of a Woman_?"

He nodded. "I thought we'd start there." Klaus had referred to their meeting in Parma during their first virtual reality program. Was he intentionally reinforcing the memories from that first session? His motive could be innocent. Klaus knew how much Neal admired the piece. Years ago, they'd discussed forging it in Geneva. "I'll bring the supplies by this afternoon," he promised. "What can I do to help?"

"Can you stay in the room while I paint?" If Neal were alone, those images flashing in his head would be even more disorienting.

Klaus looked pleased with the request. "It will be just like in Geneva. You and me in your studio. I can work in your room. I'll bring in a CD player for music . . ." He hesitated for a moment as his words trailed off. "Anya wants you to undergo another treatment with Dr. Penfold. I'm doing my best to prove to her it isn't necessary. If you start producing, my task will be much simpler."

Neal's lungs slammed shut on him as his breath escaped in a cloud of white smoke. Penfold was here, perhaps on the same floor. He'd be subjected to still more nightmares.

His panic must have registered on his face as Klaus gripped his shoulders in a vice. "Listen to me," he urged, his eyes boring into Neal's skull. "You don't have to worry. That's my problem and I'll handle it. No matter what, I won't let Penfold perform another procedure. Now, we really must go inside."

"Wait. What about Peter? Does he know? Has he been threatened?"

"Rolf's with him. Don't worry. He's in no danger, nor is his wife."

Could anything Klaus said be trusted?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"One more time," Mozzie said patiently. "Excuse me. I lost my way."

Sara wrapped her tongue around the unfamiliar syllables. Ever since Mozzie called her—could that really only be a day ago?—she'd been giving herself a crash course in Hungarian. They'd both practiced nonstop on the overnight flight from New York to Budapest.

She normally slept well on a plane but now whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see was Neal. What kind of drug were they using on him? Python talked about him as if he were a robot designed to do their bidding. And now she wanted to reprogram him. The thought was an iron vice to her stomach as Sara pictured him wired to some diabolical machine.

Focusing on Hungarian gave her a way to partially divert the stress onto something useful. By the time they landed, she'd mastered a basic vocabulary. Mozzie, to her ears at least, sounded like a native speaker. Apparently not only did he have a photographic memory but also a photographic ear. Why couldn't she have similar genes?

"If anyone asks, tell them you're from Bacau, Romania," he advised. "They speak an obscure dialect of Hungarian. That will account for any mispronounced words. You appear to be in your fifties. They'll take pity on you."

Sara nodded glumly at her companion. Mozzie had become Pygmalion, coaching her not only in the language but the role she was to play.

When he heard their destination was a remote castle in the mountains of Hungary, he opted for a pre-arranged ornithologist cover. Sara had selected a wig with short frizzled brunette hair. With the addition of wireframe glasses and a nose Richard had made for her, no one could recognize her. Mozzie had a full beard courtesy of Richard. He didn't need anything else but had pleaded for a large nose so Richard had supplied him with one which Gandalf would envy.

She and Mozzie met Richard on the day before their departure at Aidan's studio in Prentis Hall. The makeup workshop for theater students was in the basement, where both Richard and Aidan had privileges. Richard taught them how to apply the prosthetic noses and gave Sara tips on how to age her face. Travis dropped off some extra electronics for Mozzie. He'd disguised them as bird monitoring devices. They both were carrying additional clothes and wigs for different looks.

Mozzie gave her the necessary papers during the taxi ride to the airport. He'd prepared identification for them as scientists for the British Raptor Trust. He'd also supplied them with British passports. Sara wasn't about to ask how he'd obtained them. Mozzie was traveling under the name of Leonard Urskwith. She'd picked Gypsy Walters.

When they arrived in Budapest, a battered Barkas van was waiting for them, supplied by a shady-looking character wearing dark glasses. Mozzie only gave a vague friend-of-a-friend comment to her question about him and Sara didn't pry.

The tan German van would be their home for the next several days or however long it took. Sara had only limited camping experience, but the van appeared to be equipped with enough essentials for her to manage.

Their destination was a mountain estate owned by Count Lamberg. Travis was certain that the cell phone signal had come from somewhere inside the castle-like fortress.

John Hobhouse, the head of the Interpol art crimes task force, had made discreet inquiries to his Hungarian contacts about the count. The reclusive nobleman was in his eighties. A widower, he lived alone on the property with his staff. He'd been a banker and now used his considerable fortune for various philanthropic causes. On the surface, it was difficult to believe that someone like Count Lamberg could be associated with Ydrus, but he might have been manipulated or even replaced. The last public event he'd been seen at was several months ago. Hobhouse believed the Hungarians would demand concrete evidence before taking any action against the fortress. That was where she and Mozzie came in.

The estate was in the mountains north of Budapest. They stopped at a village for fresh provisions—fruit, wine, cold cuts, and bread. Shopping gave them a chance to practice their new vocabulary, or rather for Mozzie to practice. Sara simply listened and realized she had a lot more work to do.

They'd been bumping along the mountain road for the past thirty minutes. Sara had absorbed all the Hungarian she could manage. Had there been a second trigger? What if Neal were being held in a different location? Was he hooked up to a computer and being fed fake memories? Had Penfold discovered a different, more effective brainwashing technique?

"Gypsy?"

"Hmm?" she asked absently, her mind still on Neal.

"Gypsy Walters is an unusual combination for a name. Did you select it for the trip?"

"No, I've used it before."

"Walters is a good choice, easily forgotten, but Gypsy? Do you have a hidden side?" His nose twitched. "I sense a story."

"It's a friend's name," she confessed, "which I appropriated." She hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not to tell him. Mozzie must be feeling equally stressed even if he was hiding it better. Something to laugh at would be good for both of them. "The friend is a giraffe."

He cocked his head and smiled. "Does the giraffe have a pedigree?"

"She's very special," Sara assured him. "She belonged to my sister. Emily gave her to me shortly before she ran away."

"You must introduce me to Gypsy when we get back."

"I will, and that brings up a question. How did you acquire your nickname of Mozzie?"

"If you can guess what it stands for, I'll confirm your answer," he said with a decided glint in his eyes.

"Our version of Rumpelstiltskin?" she said with a laugh. "How many guesses do I get?"

"I'll give you three."

"I bet I can manage it in one, and if I do, you have to tell me why you chose it."

"An acceptable negotiation. Please proceed."

"I would say it's short for Mozzarella but I know you're lactose intolerant, and that would be cruel. The word _mozz_ is Australian slang for a jinx, but you'd hardly call yourself a jinx, so I'll wager it's derived from Mozart."

"Correct!" he said, beaming at her. "Explain your reasoning."

"You were humming arias from _Don Giovanni_ on the plane, and that gave me the idea. Did you devise the nickname because you're a genius like him?"

"A highly logical assumption, but incorrect. When I was a child, I had a teddy bear named Mozart."

"We both assumed the aliases of our animals? I knew we must be related," Sara said happily. She wished she could claim Mozzie as an uncle.

"You now know something about me Neal doesn't. When we rescue him, you can tell him if you wish."

"Does Neal have any nicknames from his childhood?"

Mozzie smiled. "He does, but that's for him to tell you."

* * *

 _Notes: Rolf, Klaus, Marta, and Jacek have all worn disguises. Next week in Chapter 7: The Scarlet Bird, the tables will be turned, and Mozzie and Sara won't be the only ones wearing them. My blog post this week is "Sara and Mozzie: An Evolving Friendship." I hope you're enjoying their new closeness. Now that Mozzie's a member of the Clueless con, it can only strengthen._

 _Penna wrote the first in a series of posts on inclusiveness. The post is called "Not another story about straight white men – Part 1." Both of us are glad we could increase the diversity of cast members in our series and we hope to expand it in future stories._

 _A few notes on the visuals for this chapter: This is not the first time I've mentioned the Da Vinci painting Head of a Woman. It closely resembles the drawing that was displayed on an easel in Neal's loft in canon, and is pinned to the Pinterest board. Mailath Castle in Croatia was a source of inspiration for Anya's fortress in Hungary._

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Musicians board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	7. Scarlet Bird

**Chapter 7: Scarlet Bird**

 **Hungary. Monday, October 17, 2005.**

It was midafternoon by the time Sara and Mozzie arrived at their destination—a forested slope in the Matra Mountains. They parked in a pull-off and hiked the rest of the way to Count Lamberg's estate. The mountain air was chilly, but they'd come prepared with warm parkas. They both had backpacks with birding gear and were carrying binoculars. Just a couple of ornithologists surveying bird populations.

The security gate to the property was close to a parking lot. At five o'clock, many staff personnel left the castle for their cars. Sara was able to scrutinize the outfits of several of the women. The housekeeper attire had the most promise, consisting of a black dress with white collar, black tights, and sturdy shoes. She'd assumed that domestic help of some sort would be her most likely role and had brought along black oxfords to wear. Mozzie opted for the look of a gardener—twill pants, faded cap, and heavy work jacket.

When they returned to the camper, they picnicked on the ground with supplies they'd bought along the way. Mozzie set up a portable propane heater to provide welcome warmth.

They intended to do their shopping the next morning. The closest town was a half hour away. It was likely most of the workers lived there. If they couldn't buy suitable clothes, Mozzie was confident they'd be able to lift them from local laundries. He assured her that the local populace would be delighted to be rid of the scourge of Ydrus. A few clothes were ample repayment. Privately, Sara disputed his logic. If Ydrus was, as they believed, using the castle as their headquarters, the locals could hate to see the loss of an employer.

"You just have novice jitters," Mozzie remarked, slicing cured sausage onto a paper plate. "You'll be fine. Didn't you and Neal break into the campus of Scima Workshop in London?"

"My part was to distract them with stories while Neal did the actual breaking in," Sara admitted.

"Still it was an excellent introduction to your new life of criminal intrigue. I thought the Doctor Who and Rose scam was quite entertaining, but it's time for you to broaden your repertoire." He uncorked a bottle of Hungarian red wine with his Swiss army knife and sniffed the bouquet. "Have you ever had Egri Bikaver—the bull's blood of Hungary?"

"I've never had the pleasure," Sara said, watching his activities with amusement. It was impossible to stress about the dangers ahead with someone who maintained such a cavalier attitude.

"It acquired its moniker from the Turks during the Ottoman siege of Eger. The Hungarian troops drank this wine and became such fierce warriors that the Turks fled in panic, claiming their enemies were drinking the blood of a bull."

Sara held out her paper cup. "I'm glad you bought several bottles." The wine was heavy with tannin and pungent with the taste of forest berries. A few sips of this and she'd be ready to head into battle too. She leaned against a tree trunk and munched dark bread and cheese. "I can easily picture you and me in a Doctor Who adventure. You're as irrepressible as the Doctor."

Mozzie beamed. "We are both all knowledgeable. And you make a worthy companion," he added generously.

"Why thank you, Doctor. Now that you've finished Henry's movie, you may wish to write a Doctor Who script. Have you ever considered writing for television?"

"Diana and I have discussed it," he acknowledged. "Perhaps when she no longer needs my assistance for Arkham Files, I'll branch out."

"Any clues about her next story?" she asked. By the time it was published, Neal would be rescued and the Mansfelds behind bars. If she said it often enough, she might believe it.

He leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially as if the owls were enemy agents. "I wrote several scenes and added some references to my youth."

"Anything about Mozart the bear?"

"No, but the man who gave me the nickname is featured. I also had an idea for Henry."

"Tell me more."

"It was based on a prompt by Neal. As you know, Henry has been claiming he doesn't read the stories."

"—while secretly conspiring with El to spark a romance between Neal and me through our Arkham Files characters."

He smiled. "Yes, their attempt has been quite obvious, hasn't it? I saw through it from the beginning."

"We did too. It was the initial reason we created the Clueless con. Neal didn't tell me about his idea for Henry. What is it?"

"He should enjoy the part. It will build on several of his talents . . ."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When the call ended, Peter called the team to the conference room for an update.

"I just spoke with Mozzie. He and Sara are in position. They set up camp in the forest near the estate. They'd arrived early enough in the day to monitor day worker traffic. A two-lane road leads to the property. The security gate is staffed by a guard but there are no draconian measures in place."

"Nothing to suggest it's the headquarters of an international crime group?" Jones asked, lifting a brow.

"It's what we expected," Peter confirmed. "Ydrus must be going to great lengths to maintain the impression that Count Lamberg is alive and well."

"Whereas, if he's not being held a prisoner, he's most likely already dead," Diana noted.

Peter nodded. They were all banking on Neal being held at Python's location, but there was no certainty. He could be a prisoner virtually anywhere. If Mozzie and Sara didn't find any evidence of Neal being present, would the Hungarians agree to raid the estate? If they did and he wasn't there, Klaus and Neal could disappear for months, maybe years. Being forced to rely on others to scout the property was maddening, and by the looks of frustration which surrounded him, everyone was feeling the same pressure.

Peter forced himself to focus on the current task. "Any sign of Marta?"

"Not yet," Jones said, "but Bianka and Jacek are under constant surveillance. She's bound to contact one or the other when she arrives. Have you heard anything more from Rolf?"

"Not since last night. Rolf called to request an update on the heist. I told him it was scheduled for Thursday." By then Peter hoped they'd have rescued Neal and they wouldn't have to go through with it. Contingency arrangements had been made with the museum in the event Neal was still being held.

"Were you able to pinpoint Rolf's location?" Diana asked.

Travis shook his head. "He probably has a drawer of burner phones. We caught a lucky break with the call from Python." He turned to Peter. "Elizabeth sent me a check-in confirmation signal from Chicago."

"I spoke with her this morning," Peter said. She'd left yesterday to visit a friend, and Tricia was now taking her place. She'd arrived disguised as El the previous evening and would work remotely from his townhouse till the completion of the assignment. The resemblance was eerie. Satchmo had met Tricia, and the two got along well together, but he was one confused pooch over why his mistress now smelled like Tricia. Hopefully, the noses of Ydrus agents weren't as keen. One kidnapping at a time was all Peter could manage. As it was, he'd had nightmares of Neal on a gurney with Penfold leaning over him.

"How's Henry holding up?" Diana asked.

"Not well," Peter admitted. "Especially now that he knows I'm going to Hungary." He turned to his tech specialist. "Has Richard finished your disguise?"

He nodded. "I'm ready to take your place whenever you're ready. Richard's taught me how to apply the prosthetics."

"Boss, you realize there's a solution for Henry," Diana said. "You're using Travis as a stand-in once Neal's location is confirmed. Henry already has one."

"I'd thought of him, but depending on what happens in Hungary, the theft may actually have to be carried out."

Travis smiled. "Given his record, I don't expect he'd mind. We should at least find out if he's available."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal set his brush down on the palette and paused to gaze out the mullioned window of the alcove. The view no longer made him feel nauseous. He'd been able to sort out that he didn't really have acrophobia. But that wasn't necessarily an improvement. Now that he could see he was high in the mountains, he felt more trapped than ever. His perch resembled an eagle's aerie, but he was unable to fly away. The life he'd left behind seemed impossibly distant.

Whatever drug they had him on didn't appear to affect his coordination, but he felt lethargic and listless. Flashes of scenes flickered in front of his eyes at random moments, making it difficult to focus on anything. The shot which arrived with dinner must have been stronger. By the end of the meal, he could barely stay awake to get to bed. Once he was asleep, the memories of Bianka and Klaus were so vivid, it seemed like he hadn't slept.

Neal tried to picture scenes of Peter and El in their townhouse, but they clashed with memories of Chantal and Klaus. Different realities were waging a war in his head.

He risked a quick glance at Klaus working on his laptop. The day before he'd wheeled in a mobile desk and spent the entire day in Neal's room. They'd taken their meals together with Klaus not leaving till after dinner. Neal vaguely recalled he was the one who'd suggested it, but it was a bad idea. Too often when he looked at Klaus, he saw Henry instead.

When Neal was sick with pneumonia in Chicago, Henry had come back into his life after an absence of 15 years. He'd helped Neal recuperate and shown him photos of relatives he didn't remember. Now it was Klaus performing Henry's role, and the photos were snapshots in his mind. Henry, El, Peter, Klaus, Mozzie—his life was constantly reshuffling. Once, Neal caught himself calling Klaus Henry. Klaus hadn't pointed it out. How much did he know about Henry? How much had Neal told him and now didn't remember?

He didn't think Klaus had asked him about the Raphael and the Renoir—the paintings Peter had supposedly lifted from the Nazi treasure. Neal tried in vain to figure out the significance. At the start of the day—whichever day it was—Klaus had taken him back on the roof. He'd warned him several times that every move, every whisper in his locked chamber was being recorded and analyzed. Neal's response was to speak as little as possible.

The alcove with its easel became his refuge. By focusing only on the painting, he could reduce the number of extraneous images flashing through his mind. Klaus had already gathered the supplies for the Da Vinci. The poplar wood which the master had used as a canvas looked exactly like the original. The tubes of paint and brushes were brought in at the start of the day. At sunset they were whisked away for some servant to clean. An excellent ventilation system sucked paint fumes out of the room.

Klaus restricted the music to Schubert and Schumann. Neal recognized one in particular—"Of Foreign Lands and Cultures" from _Scenes from Childhood_. Was it a covert message? A part of the virtual reality program? Was it designed to reinforce the impression that Klaus was his brother, caring for him, watching out for him no matter where Neal was? He'd rescued Neal from the Met. He was the one who had Neal's best interests at heart. Neal realized that wasn't true, but it would be so easy to give in.

He had photographs of the original painting to work with. The subject was anonymous, but he knew who it was—Sara. They were the secret no one knew about. No flashing images. Her face smiled at him. Thoughts of her kept him from shattering into a million pieces.

"You appear quite content," Klaus remarked. "How's the acrophobia?"

Neal stepped closer to the window. "Not a twitch."

A door opened and a man in his fifties wearing a white lab coat entered the room. His white hair was cropped short. Erasmus Penfold. Neal whipped his sluggish brain cells into alert mode as his stomach performed a nosedive. Penfold was followed by a younger man, also wearing a lab coat, who was pushing a medical cart equipped with supplies.

"Now this is what I like to see! You're making remarkable progress." Penfold strode forward to shake Neal's unresisting hand. He didn't introduce himself, although Neal didn't remember having met him. How many times had Penfold visited him without him being aware?

"I hope you'll permit a small interruption," Penfold said, as if Neal had any choice.

"What do you have in mind?" Klaus asked, switching to English. He and Neal carried out all their conversations in German.

"Only a few simple tests." Penfold turned to Neal. "You were in quite a state when you arrived." He frowned sympathetically. "I've been quite concerned about you. Are you still suffering from hallucinations?"

Neal felt a buzzing in his head. Flashes of Penfold holding a needle, jabbing him, shining a light in his eyes. Neal slammed down on the images and glanced at his image of Sara on the easel. "I'm much better now, thanks." No snarkiness, not now. He was the model patient. _You can leave now_.

Penfold checked his heart rate and blood pressure. He had Neal walk for him, stand by the windows, and hold out his arms. Penfold made no comment about any detected problems, instead praising him for how healthy he appeared. When the orderly drew several tubes of his blood, Neal became lightheaded. He fought to control the shakiness, but it was much easier to fake trembling than to suppress it.

Was this a preliminary exam for the reprogramming Klaus had warned about? Judging by Klaus's expression, that was his fear.

"I'm going to reduce your medication this evening," Penfold said. "If you have any discomfort, be sure to let me know."

Finally, the words Neal had longed to hear. "How long will it take before I notice a change?" he asked.

"Only a couple of hours. You have no need for concern. We'll be monitoring you closely. If you experience any discomfort, that can be easily remedied."

Even though he already knew it was occurring, hearing Penfold confirm it was brutal. Where was Peter? Hadn't they discovered where he was?

Klaus followed Penfold out the door when he left, and Neal returned to his painting. Would he even remember who Sara was after the procedure? A wave of nausea slammed him and he rushed to the bathroom. Retching into the toilet, he couldn't control the panic flooding through him over what would happen. If he acted crazy during the night, would that postpone it? Or would it demonstrate the necessity to rewire his brain? Neal stared at the gilt mirror, wanting to hurl something at it. Was the mirror one-way glass? Even now he was being observed. If he smashed the glass into tiny shards, would they be forced to stare at him in the open?

He heard footsteps outside and quickly rinsed his mouth.

"Are you all right?" Klaus strode into the bathroom.

"Yeah, there was something off with the quiche," Neal mumbled, unable to mention the real cause for fear of being overheard.

"The taste seemed off to me, too. I'll speak with the chef." That was for the camera's benefit.

As Neal turned around, Klaus drew close to him and murmured, "It's going to be all right. I have a plan. I won't let anyone harm you."

Klaus's cell phone buzzed. He stepped back to read the text.

Neal returned to his aerie and picked up his paintbrush. Painting was the only tangible link he had to his former life.

"I'm needed elsewhere," Klaus said, walking toward the door. "I won't be gone long."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Sara and Mozzie drove to town the next morning to shop for clothes. A local store carried the uniforms, and a thrift store supplied Mozzie with all the clothes he'd need. By midday they were ready to sneak onto the estate. Sara wore a raincoat over her outfit so if she was spotted before she entered the building, they wouldn't wonder why a housemaid was outside.

The castle was bordered by landscaped gardens which merged into the woods beyond. As on the previous day, men were raking leaves and tidying paths. Mozzie intended to join them. Sara planned to sneak in through the back entrance.

A delivery truck rolled up while she was hiding in the bushes. When a couple of the staff members approached it to carry in supplies, she seized on the opportunity and dashed through the door. She found herself in a passageway leading to a cavernous kitchen in the basement. A mudroom opened off the hallway. She hung her coat on one of the pegs, smoothed down her hair, and took a deep breath.

Mozzie reasoned that if they could discover Neal was there, Peter would be able to convince authorities to make a raid. Any information they could acquire about the castle would be invaluable. Were there stockpiles of arms? Stolen art? All Sara cared about was finding Neal.

She'd worn a different wig with long black hair pulled into a chignon and had added glasses to her look. There were several employees in the kitchen taking lunch when she arrived. The kitchen was in the basement, which appeared to be as extensive as the upper floors. Sara passed one corridor where the doors had sophisticated electronic locks. Possible storerooms of loot? She grabbed a stack of towels from the laundry to hold in front of her. They gave her an excuse for keeping her head down.

She didn't dally on the ground floor, assuming it contained the public rooms, but caught glimpses of a large salon and dining room. She'd counted four floors from the outside. Her best guess was that Neal was on one of the upper floors. The second floor contained offices and several large bedrooms. There were too many people milling around for her to get a good look. She'd discovered a service stairway in the back that she was using for her reconnaissance, but it presented issues as well, with domestic staff a constant threat.

When Sara reached the third floor, she smoothed down her stack of linens as she rehearsed her line. _Fresh towels for the bathroom_. That made perfect sense why she was upstairs.

When she stepped into the hall, two men in white medical coats were exiting a room at the other end. Her heart leaped with excess adrenaline. Was that a sign Neal was there? If she found him, he wouldn't recognize her under the wig and makeup but she hoped her necklace would alert him to her identity. She was wearing the bird pendant he'd given her.

The men were heading her way. Sara darted into the first opening from the service stairs and found herself in a linen room. She waited while footsteps and voices passed by her cubbyhole. When all was quiet, she sneaked a look. The passage was clear. Picking up her towels, she strode quickly down a hallway which suddenly seemed much longer than she remembered.

As she neared the door, it opened. Sara steeled her nerves. _I'm a housekeeper. I'm supposed to be here._

A man entered the passageway. She swallowed when she recognized Klaus Mansfeld. He looked just like his photos. When he spotted her, he beckoned her toward him.

Sara approached, nodding respectfully. "Yes, sir?" she asked in her best Hungarian.

He jerked his head toward the door from where he'd exited. "Take the coffee service to the kitchen."

She'd heard enough Hungarian by now to know his wasn't very good. He spoke slowly and Sara hoped she'd gotten the meaning right. The door to an adjacent room was ajar. She caught a glimpse of two men with computers. Monitors were hooked together showing surveillance feeds.

Klaus used his index finger to disengage the electronic lock and opened the door for her. As she stepped inside, she heard him command the men in the room next door to keep watch.

Tears of relief blurred her vision when she spotted Neal standing in front of an easel, brush in hand. She fought to retain her composure as he glanced briefly at her then turned back to his painting. He didn't appear physically injured, but that glimpse of sadness she'd obtained was heartbreaking. She longed to rush to him and tell him hope was on the way.

She scanned the room as she headed for the coffee tray which was on an end table next to a sofa. His bedroom was light and spacious. He didn't appear restrained in any way. The Whistler painting on the wall was unexpected. Was that the original? Sara remembered it had been stolen from a museum in Los Angeles shortly before Neal's ill-fated trip to California.

Even though they were being monitored, she couldn't leave without letting him know who she was. Neal was focused on his work and ignoring her. Oriental rug runners were scattered on the floor. They would have to do.

She picked up the tray and when she turned, caught the toe of her shoe in the rug. Letting out a small exclamation, she staggered and tilted the tray enough to cause a spoon to drop. She managed to kick the spoon under the sofa as she grabbed the coffee pot.

Startled, Neal looked up at the commotion.

"Excuse me, sir," Sara said in Hungarian, acting flustered. She quickly placed the tray down and bent over, causing her pendant to dangle freely. She didn't dare look at Neal for his reaction but knelt down to search for the spoon.

"Let me help," Neal said in German. He crouched beside her, his eyes flicking to her pendant. He'd seen it!

"Thank you." She answered in German but botched her pronunciation, hoping it sounded like a Hungarian accent. With her hand, she continued to feel under the skirt of the sofa.

His hand reached under the sofa, his slim fingertips pressing into her hand for a moment. "I found it." Giving her the spoon, he stood up. "No harm done."

She nodded, lowering her eyes and smoothing her dress. She wished she could linger but it'd be far too risky.

"Please tell the kitchen that I'd like more of the plum preserve for breakfast tomorrow." His lips breathed another word at the end.

"I'm sorry. My German is not good. Please repeat."

When he did, he breathed the same word, _river_. It must be code for something. Peter would know.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The first word Klaus received that Rolf had returned from New York was when Rolf texted him on his cell phone. Klaus's initial thought was that Peter was causing issues, but surely someone would have notified him. The flight from New York to Budapest was a lengthy one. Why hadn't Jacek let him know Rolf was coming?

His brother was in his office down the hall from Neal's room. Rolf didn't turn around when Klaus entered but continued to study the painting of _The Astronomer_ hanging on the wall. Was that the cause of his return?

"Is yours the genuine work?" Klaus asked.

Rolf didn't answer for a moment. "I don't know yet. Jacek hasn't had a chance to inspect the contents of Peter's safe. The Raphael painting may be there as well." He turned to face Klaus. "Has Neal provided the details of where it is?"

"Not yet, and I haven't pushed. We've made great strides. We're closer than ever . . . if Penfold doesn't ruin it."

"Take a seat," Rolf said, not commenting on Klaus's assessment. He took his place at the massive Gothic desk.

Klaus appropriated the leather-and-oak side chair. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon."

"Marta and Jacek can take care of the New York end. It proceeds well. Peter and Henry are under constant surveillance. Once they steal _Starry Night_ , we'll be ready to move to the next phase."

Did he also mean severing the ties with Ydrus? Klaus didn't dare mention it in Rolf's office which was undoubtedly bugged. "When will that happen?"

"Peter's promised me the job will occur on Thursday night." Rolf picked up a Renaissance geometric compass and gently pressed the tips onto the palm of his hand. "How's Neal?"

"His symptoms have diminished steadily. He continues to improve," Klaus said, faking a confidence he didn't feel.

"That's not what Anya tells me. I stopped to talk with her on the way upstairs. She reports that Neal still suffers from hallucinations. She showed me some of the footage." Rolf frowned. "I didn't have to observe it for long to see he's having issues. He even called you Henry a couple of times. Neal's confusion must be a concern to you. Penfold's services are more essential than ever."

Klaus jumped up and placed his hands on the desk. "Don't you understand? Neal's state is caused by the previous procedure. It's our fault he's the way he is. If Penfold does any more tampering, all we'll be left with is a vegetable."

"You're exaggerating. Penfold has performed the procedure on several test cases. Each one was successful."

"Oh really? Did you know what they were like before? I do. Now the men are only shells."

"That's not true. They retain all their abilities."

"But they have no personality, no self-will. They might as well be robots. We can't let that happen to Neal."

"You overstate the risks." Rolf's calmness was infuriating. Klaus felt an unexpected urge to throttle him. How could his brother be so dispassionate about destroying a man? "Penfold wants to perform the procedure tomorrow morning. Can't we at least wait till Friday?" By then he could have a plan in place to spirit Neal away.

"Anya feels it would be unwise and in this case I must agree with her." Rolf rose and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're like any parent before surgery—imagining the worst from a simple tonsillectomy. Once it's over, you'll see. This is best for both Neal and you."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Neal didn't appear to have any injuries," Sara said, "but I'm sure they're drugging him with something."

Sara and Mozzie's call came through just after Peter returned from lunch. For once, Mozzie didn't object when Peter said he was putting them on speaker and recording every word they said. It was the confirmation they'd been looking for.

"You were in disguise," Peter pointed out. "Are you sure he recognized you?"

"When I was searching for the spoon, Neal crouched next to me. I was able to whisper my name in his ear. He kept his face low so cameras wouldn't be able to record him, but I could see the recognition in his face. And also the desperation. What's the significance of the word _river_?"

"It's Neal's panic phrase. Did he use it?"

"We knew we were being monitored so he breathed it so softly I almost didn't catch it. He repeated it, and I'm sure I got it right."

"We're already working on that extraction," Peter promised.

"Suit, he must know of some dastardly plan in the works," Mozzie said. "How soon can you get here?"

Peter was already pulling up the flight schedule on his computer. "The earliest flight I'll be able to catch leaves at eight o'clock tonight, arriving midday in Budapest. Meeting with the Hungarians, setting up the logistics . . . It will probably be late Wednesday night or Thursday morning before anything can be attempted. I'll need you in Budapest tomorrow."

"One of us should stay to monitor the castle," Mozzie said. "Sara will meet you."

When they signed off, Peter made a phone call to Doc Jacob. Afterward, he had Jones, Diana, and Travis join him in the conference room.

"Mozzie's sure it was Rolf he saw?" Jones asked.

Peter nodded. "Mozzie was raking the front beds when the car rolled up. In the last photograph we had of Rolf, he'd been wearing a fake beard, but this time he was clean shaven—the same way he's looked for me. His appearance resembles the last photos we have of him before he faked his death."

"That Whistler painting Sara mentioned in Neal's room is a major concern," Diana said. "In the virtual reality program, the painting was also hanging in his bedroom. We'd discussed the possibility of a second trigger. This could be it."

"That was my reaction, too," Peter said. "I called Neal's therapist and Jacob agreed. Whatever he's being drugged with are likely interfering with his ability to cope." Peter's words trailed off. There was no need to discuss his fears about the damage being done. The team shared them. "Jones, you're in charge of surveillance. Jacek, Marta, and Bianka's locations are still pinpointed, I assume?"

Jones nodded. "We're aware of every move they make. We haven't yet discovered how Marta arrived in New York, but once Jacek met her for lunch, we had her nailed. She won't escape now."

"Good. They expect us to be working on the heist and that's what we'll give them. The theft is supposed to take place Thursday evening. By then we should have Neal rescued and Ydrus headquarters captured." Optimistic words. That was only two days off. He didn't want to calculate what the odds were of being able to pull together a rescue operation so quickly in a remote area of Hungary. Peter noticed the worried glances the team members exchanged with each other. When an agent gave the panic signal, they were supposed to perform an immediate extraction. The clock was now threatening to gallop ahead of them.

Peter clamped down on the doubts. The schedule they'd prepared was tight but doable. He turned to Travis. "I told Henry to meet us at your place in two hours."

"I'll call Richard. We'll be ready."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry waited impatiently at the door of Travis's apartment. He'd been surprised that Peter had relented to his demand to go to Hungary, but he wasn't about to question it. The fact that Peter asked him to come to Travis's apartment guaranteed that master shapeshifter-enabler Richard would be there to work his voodoo magic on whatever agent had been roped in to play Henry. He wondered who'd been picked. Henry prepared himself to not be overly critical. Peter was as much on edge as he was. _No unnecessary waves_.

Peter opened the door, or was it? Henry stood back and eyed him carefully. The man raised an eyebrow just like Peter.

"Travis? Say something," Henry demanded. "Or do you have his voice nailed too?"

"The voice is still a work in progress," Travis admitted. "I've recorded a list of replies and questions and programmed them into voice-modifier software. For a telephone call, I'll be fine."

He stood aside to let Henry enter the hallway. Richard and Peter were standing behind him.

Richard was scrutinizing Travis, a slight frown on his face. "I still need to work on the worry lines."

"No need," Peter said. "Travis will fool anyone monitoring us."

"Once the action begins," Travis added, "those lines will pop out on their own."

"Where's my double?" Henry asked.

"Follow me." Richard led him into the living room where a man was sitting on the sofa, strumming Richard's guitar. He looked up when Henry entered and did a double-take. Henry was sure his face had the same gobsmacked expression. The dude was his double.

"Man, I wouldn't have believed I had a doppelganger," the stranger said. "I'd seen the photos, but still . . ."

Hell, the guy even had Henry's voice. It was pitched a little lower. Henry didn't think his sounded as much like a growl, but the resemblance was eerie.

"Henry, meet Dean Winchester," Peter said. "I called him yesterday."

Neal had told him about Dean, but their paths had never crossed. Not a surprise. Henry preferred to avoid vampires and the other monsters that the Winchester brothers hunted. It was truly unfortunate Neal and Peter hadn't been as successful. The fact Dean was here showed that Peter trusted the guy to take his place. That was all Henry needed to know.

"I was working a job nearby," Dean said. "Sam and Bobby can handle it without me."

"Consider this a vacation," Henry said. "The fridge is stocked with beer. You can use my credit card. I have a stack of takeout menus by the phone."

"Cable?" Dean asked.

Henry relaxed into a smile. "Yep, including all the premium channels."

"You'll need to report for work at Henry's office during the day," Peter said, "but that shouldn't be too onerous. He has a pool table in the reception area, and several team members who relish any excuse to play poker."

At Dean's sly smile, Henry added, "Try not to fleece them for too much. I'll leave you my cell phone, as well."

"Peter already filled me in on the job," Dean said. "Are you expecting any calls?"

"No, my family and friends know I'm on assignment. They won't expect an immediate response."

"Peter, it's time to get you ready," Richard said. "I have the supplies in the kitchen."

"Is this the new look Neal was telling me about?" Henry asked.

Richard nodded. "He calls it his Viking persona. You'll have to tell me what you think."

For once Peter made no objection to being made over. While Richard worked on him, Henry applied what he'd dubbed his Johnny Depp disguise—a wig with lank locks falling over his forehead, a thin mustache, and a small goatee. Peter's mustache and beard were fuller. He also had a nose prosthetic. His dark hair was collar length in back and was flecked with a few lighter highlights.

Peter had alerted Henry to bring a change of clothes with him. Dean would wear the suit he arrived in while he'd change into jeans and a pullover sweater. They'd go to his loft together with Henry staying only long enough to pick up his bag. Travis and Peter, both in disguise, would stop off in Brooklyn where Tricia, disguised as El, was waiting for them.

"You told me you're heading out to rescue Neal," Dean said. "Where did he get into trouble this time?"

"Hungary," Peter said.

His brows arched. "Transylvania land? And you swear there are no vamps involved?"

Peter's smile was a little tenuous. "That's in Romania, and a crime syndicate is holding Neal captive, not minions of Dracula."

Dean shrugged. "Crime and fangs go together. How far away can Transylvania be? Aren't you the one who claims Neal's a vampire magnet? I'll give you the phone number of a hunter in Romania—Stefan—I think I've mentioned him to you before. Never hurts to be prepared, and I warn you upfront—I fly only under exceptional duress."

Peter hesitated for only a second. "Go ahead and write down his contact information."

* * *

 _Notes: Readers of our series know that Henry has been Neal's protector for years. It's an attribute which an unscrupulous foe—like Anya, for instance—could take advantage of. She fires an opening salvo in next week's chapter, "Siege Warfare." This week I wrote about Henry for our blog: "When an Asset Becomes a Vulnerability."_

 _Mozzie and Sara were thrilled at the favorable comments to their friendship. Sara was particularly delighted to hear from readers who also have plush giraffes. Another plush character will make an appearance later in the story. But there won't be room for fluff next week as Peter and Henry head to Hungary for the showdown with Ydrus. Will Rolf and Klaus escape? Will Penfold go through with the promised procedure on Neal? The answers are in Chapter 8._

 _ _International Women's Day was last week and to mark the occasion, Penna wrote a post where she reflects on our use of female characters in Caffrey Conversation._ It's the second part of her series, "Not another story about straight white men."_

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Musicians board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	8. Siege Warfare

**Chapter 8: Siege Warfare**

 **Matra Mountains, Hungary. Wednesday, October 19, 2005.**

Klaus's breath appeared as white puffs in the early morning air which were then whisked away by the stiff breeze. The castle turrets were dusted with a light coating of frost. He found the air bracing, but clearly Neal had a different opinion. He was hunched against the door, his hands in his pockets and his head pulled deep into the hood of his parka. Despite the supposed reduction in medication, Neal was quiet and withdrawn, making Klaus wonder just how much of a reduction there had been.

Soon, though, Neal would improve. Klaus had finally been able to persuade Anya to order all drugs be stopped. She had no choice. With the death last night of one of his model patients, Penfold could no longer claim his procedure was safe. Now Anya understood that nothing the doctor said could be trusted. Neal was far too valuable to undergo such a risky technique.

It was galling that it had taken a death for Rolf to appreciate the danger of experimenting on Neal. His brother's condescension was vinegar on an open wound. Rolf still thought of Klaus as a youngster who needed guidance. That kid had grown up long ago and was eminently capable of taking matters into his own hands.

Rolf was right on one account though. Soon they could put Ydrus behind them. On Thursday night, Peter and Henry would conduct their initiation performance. Klaus and Neal could return to New York on the following day. By Monday, Neal should be able to resume his life. Klaus planned to establish his new headquarters in New York, as far away from Anya as possible. Rolf continued to believe she was a necessary evil for the moment, but by December they'd be free of her.

Neal might be cold, but he no longer appeared anxious on their rooftop perch. When they were in New York, they'd both climb Riverside Church and check out that dragon gargoyle together.

"You're in a good mood," Neal remarked. "Any particular reason?"

No harm in telling him, and Neal needed encouraging news. "Penfold's no longer an issue."

"What happened?"

"One of his test subjects died last night. Cardiac arrest. Anya's halted the program. There'll be no more shots, and, more importantly, no more threats of Penfold subjecting you to one of his programs."

Neal gasped in relief. "You're sure?"

Klaus nodded. "Next stop New York."

"I'll be able to see Peter and El? Resume my life?"

"Absolutely. Hopefully next week you'll return to the FBI. They're good people. They care for you. The extracurricular activities you'll perform won't negate your relationship with them, I promise."

"I'll simply have a secret second life?"

"You got it. Sound good?"

"Like a dream come true!"

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Eric Vasquez hesitated, his hand hovering over the phone. What was the use? His call would just go to Henry's voicemail. He lay down his mechanical pencil and gloomily picked up the L-square. The ruler was a good metaphor for their relationship, if you could call it that. They were going in two opposite directions with no apparent deviation on the horizon.

Eric had been with Henry long enough to know when he was being given a snow job. It was painfully clear that Henry was relieved Eric's work was so demanding. Did he honestly think that no matter how busy Eric was, he wouldn't find a way to spend time with the man he was attempting to build a life with?

A month ago, Eric might have explained the reason for his trip to Guatemala without being asked. Was he subconsciously trying to retaliate? Henry had shut him out, so he should do the same? The thought made him wince. He was being ridiculous. Wasn't Henry worth making a few more allowances?

After all, Henry had never been in a serious relationship before. He'd been out for less than a year. Missteps were inevitable. It was understandable Henry found it difficult to open up, particularly since so much of his work was confidential. Eric resolved to finish the drawing and then give him a call.

His assistant Lucy Kang appeared at the doorway, carrying a stack of envelopes. "The mail came early today." Eric was surprised at the volume as Lucy sorted through the items. Usually once the bills were removed, there wasn't much left.

She held up a plain manila envelope. "We don't see many of these. There's no postage. It's marked confidential for you. Someone must have slipped it into our mailbox. A nervous client, perhaps?"

"Thanks." He waited till she left his office before opening it, a knot forming in his stomach. He'd recently secured the bid for the restoration of a building into inexpensive artist apartments. Had the SoHo Arts Community Association changed their minds? That would be beyond cruel.

Eric slit open the envelope. Inside were several four-by-six-inch photos. Henry was in every one of them . . . along with a woman. His hands were all over her. Her blouse was open, revealing a skimpy black-lace bra. Henry's shirt was unbuttoned too. In one of the photos, his hand was on one of her breasts as he leaned over her. In another, her hand was resting on his groin.

Eric swallowed down the nausea and hastily stuffed the photos back into the envelope. There was only one short printed message on a slip of paper: _From a friend_. Was this supposed to be a blackmail attempt? Then they'd sent it to the wrong person. He forced himself to look at the photos again. There was no indication of when or where they'd been taken.

He hadn't spoken with Henry in over two weeks. That was on the evening Henry had returned from Japan. He claimed he'd be working on a case and would touch base at the end of it. Was this the case? Was this how Henry conducted investigations? If so, he'd fallen into the deep end. Someone was taking advantage of Henry, and that undoubtedly meant he was in a mess of trouble.

Eric reached for his cell phone. When he pressed Henry's speed-dial number, the only response was that same damn voicemail message he'd already heard countless times. Eric kept it simple, saying it was urgent. Then he tried Neal's cell. No answer either, forcing him to leave yet another message. Unwillingly, his eyes returned to the photos. They appeared to have been taken in some luxurious bedroom, maybe a hotel suite. He realized Henry kept secrets, but nothing like this.

It was almost lunchtime. Henry's office was only a few blocks away. Eric decided to take a chance and see if Henry wasn't answering because he was in a meeting. If nothing else, the walk might help him calm down. Grabbing his jacket, Eric explained to Lucy and his draftsman Faisel that he'd be back in an hour and took off.

As he approached Henry's building, he was in luck. Henry was exiting the front doors. He must not have checked his cell phone before he left.

Eric rushed forward, waving his hand. "Hey, Henry!"

Of all the responses he'd expected, being ignored was not one of them. Henry acted like he hadn't even heard him. Eric pushed through the passersby but before he could catch up, Henry jumped into a taxi. The worst was for a moment he looked straight at Eric. There was no chance Henry couldn't have seen him. No smile, not even a nod of acknowledgment?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Travis works at the FBI. Does he shut you out of his life?" Eric demanded.

Richard wanted to be honest, but he tried to soften the truth so Eric's situation wouldn't seem so bleak. "It's different for me. Neal and I were friends before I met Travis. Neal's studio is next to mine at Columbia. We see each other almost daily. Recently I've been helping them with a couple of their cases."

Richard had gotten to know Eric when he was the architect in charge of the restoration of Henry's loft and Win-Win's offices. Once Henry and Eric began dating, Richard and Travis sometimes joined them at Riffs or other clubs. So it wasn't a surprise when Eric showed up at Scima Gameworks during the lunch hour. He worked in the vicinity and was probably at loose ends with Henry away.

His agitation though, that was unexpected. Eric was normally a low-key kind of guy. Now he was seething with anger. When Richard realized how upset he was, he suggested they go to a nearby pizza joint where he could vent his frustration.

"Those photos must have been part of a trap," Richard said. "I know Henry was out of town for a few days. They were probably shot then. Do you mind if I show them to Travis?"

"Take them." Eric retrieved the envelope from his satchel. "I don't want them back." He picked up his mug of coffee with both hands and held onto it for a moment before setting it back down without taking a sip. "Is Henry in trouble?"

 _Define trouble_. Richard knew better than to give any specifics on the case. This could be the woman Henry had targeted in England. If so, it indicated Ydrus knew about Eric. He could be picked up and questioned. Under the circumstances, Eric would be in a safer position if he didn't have anything to divulge, and that meant Richard couldn't tell him about Dean. "Henry's working with Peter. As far as I know, Henry's okay but Neal's not. I'm sorry, I really don't know much more."

"I tried to call Neal. It went to his voicemail." Eric rubbed his chin. "It figures that Neal's involved. Henry would do whatever it takes to help him out . . . even seduce a woman, I suppose." He began tearing his slice of pizza into strips. "This may work for Henry, but not for me. He tells me how much I mean to him, but does he understand what being in a relationship entails? We should be there for each other, _not_ keep secrets." He shook his head and grimaced. "It's not his fault. I assumed too much. Once Henry takes care of his family and job, he has no time for anyone else."

"Don't let this mess with your head," Richard urged. "This is an unusual situation. It won't continue indefinitely. Henry's like Neal. He worries about others getting caught in the crossfire of his problems."

"I know that, and I've tried to be understanding, but there are limits." Eric took a breath. "I want what you and Travis have. You're partners, not just in love but in every other aspect of your lives. I thought Henry and I were on that same path. Now I realize I don't have the foggiest notion about where he's heading."

Richard ached for him. It was plain how much Eric cared for Henry, but Richard didn't know to what extent those feelings were reciprocated. "I'm sure Henry will be able to explain it. He undoubtedly wanted to shield you from any fallout . . ." His words trailed off. There wasn't much he could say which would ease the pain.

Eric shrugged. "Today on the street, he was a stranger. That's not the kind of person I can see a future with."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter and Henry arrived in Budapest, they were met at the airport by their Hungarian contact Miklos Bozsik, along with John Hobhouse. Like Peter and Henry, John was technically assisting in an advisory capacity, but the weight he carried as Interpol's liaison on art crimes would stand them in good stead. The Hungarians were as eager as everyone else to bring Ydrus to justice. John told Peter privately that the head of Interpol had already spoken with Miklos's supervisor and obtained his promise of full cooperation.

Miklos, a burly brick of a man with a shock of dark hair, was a veteran of twenty-plus years in the service. Art crimes weren't normally his bailiwick, but Ydrus's connections to the illegal arms trade had him salivating. John had already briefed him on the case before Peter and Henry arrived.

Sara was waiting for them in the ad hoc command center Miklos had designated for their use at police headquarters, a futuristic-looking circular edifice in glass. Mozzie, aka Leonard Urskwith, was conducting surveillance at the castle. Sara planned to return as soon as the meeting was concluded. John had already met Sara and had worked with her on several cases when she was stationed in London.

"Were you able to see Neal again?" Henry asked as soon as he saw Sara, not commenting on her altered appearance. She was wearing a frizzled curly wig and wire rims.

"No, unfortunately," Sara said, likewise making no mention of their disguises. "Leonard and I spent the day noting traffic patterns. We were both able to sneak in at various times and familiarize ourselves with the layout. Even though I spent as long as I could at delivering linens to the third floor, no one requested I enter Neal's room. Rolf's suite appears to be on the same floor. I was able to catch a glimpse of him coming out of it."

She placed a portfolio on the table. "We made drawings of the floorplan inside as well as key outside areas. The basement contains several locked rooms. They're probably where weapons and any art treasures are stored." She spread the papers for all to study.

"I've secured the necessary warrants," Miklos said. "Obtaining them so quickly would have been more difficult if we'd had to rely solely on the evidence Miss Ellis provided. But Count Lamberg's involvement greased the wheels. The count has been in poor health for the past several years. He hasn't been seen in public for over nine months. Given the count's importance, my chief has given me full authority to verify his condition along with that of your consultant."

"The count's relatives in the UK came to us expressing their concern," John told Sara. "They believe something may have happened to him since they haven't received any information. They fear his staff may have taken advantage of him." In reality, the Count had only one distant cousin in England, an elderly man living in a skilled nursing facility, but the connection was sufficient for the authorities in Hungary to give their blessing to the op.

"The relatives' worries are quite justified," Miklos pointed out. "We were able to track down his doctor. The last time he saw the count was eighteen months ago."

"Early morning will be the best time to make an approach," Sara said. "For the past two days, a delivery truck from a local supplier has arrived at eight in the morning. It's waved through to the back entrance. The guard doesn't bother checking credentials."

Henry jabbed a finger at the sketch of a flight pad on one of the drawings. "How many helicopters do they have?"

"Three," Sara said. "They'll all need to be disabled before we make our entrance."

Miklos jotted a few lines on his notepad. "A couple of the men on our team have experience with such matters." He glanced at Sara. "From what you've told me, your associate is quite adept as well."

"Leonard could disable them on his own if necessary," she agreed.

Henry's cell phone rang while they were outlining their strategy. He excused himself to take the call in the hallway. When he returned, he didn't comment on it, but whatever it was, the news couldn't have been good. Henry's face was even grimmer than before.

Peter waited for a break to speak to him about it. "Bad news from New York?"

Henry's jaw tightened. "That was Travis. Someone sent photos of me and Joanna to Eric. We were in her hotel room . . . I told you she made a play for me. For a while, I went along to see if I could use it to my advantage. She must have installed hidden cameras to record us." His words trailed off into a grimace.

Peter's heart went out to him. He didn't need this complication, particularly now. "How's Eric taking it?"

Henry shrugged. "About like you'd expect. He went to see Richard who informed Travis. Eric had stopped by my office. Caught a glimpse of Dean leaving and was particularly upset that I ignored him." He waved a hand as if to dispel smoke in front of his eyes. "None of this matters right now. I'll deal with it later."

"I'm sure Travis and Richard told him it was a setup and you'd explain when you get back."

He nodded. "If he'll still talk to me. What I can't figure out is why would Python go to the bother? There was no blackmail demand. The note said 'from a friend.' Was this simply to play a nasty trick?"

"It sounds like something Rolf might do. You're under surveillance. He could have used this as a way to determine the closeness of your relationship with Eric."

"In which case, Eric's lucky that Dean took my place. He could be off Rolf's radar now." Henry rubbed his chin. "Or Joanna could have another agenda of her own. Travis warned Eric not to go by my apartment or work. He suggested Eric act as if he'd had it with me." Henry winced. "That's probably not far from the truth."

Peter was more than ever relieved that El wasn't in town. Tricia hadn't reported anyone approaching her, but if they didn't succeed tomorrow, she could quickly become a prime target.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Still asleep?"

Neal awoke with a start as the sheet and blanket were jerked off him.

"Go away." He grabbed for the covers and pulled them over his head. The room was dark, lit only by a nightlight. Why Klaus was dressed at this hour he didn't know and could care less. His headache was a jackhammer in his brain. All he wanted to do was sleep.

Klaus yanked the blanket back once more. "Oh, no, you don't, " he said boisterously. "Don't you remember? I promised to let you experience sunrise on the roof. If you want to see it, you have to get up." He leaned over to hiss in his ear. "Penfold's coming. You need to escape _now._ I'll explain on the way."

His legs wobbling like a newborn colt, Neal staggered up. His reprieve from drugs hadn't lasted long. Yesterday evening just after dinner, Klaus was called away by a phone call. During his absence, Penfold showed up with an orderly and yet another shot.

Klaus didn't give him time to think but shoved him into the bathroom instead. "Just do the essentials. You can shave later."

While Neal relieved himself, he heard Klaus in the wardrobe, pulling out clothes.

Neal washed his hands and splashed cold water over his face. The jackhammer had turned into an anvil, compressing his skull, crushing thoughts, but there was a sense of urgency in Klaus's tone which broke through the fog.

"Put these on." Klaus handed him a pullover and jeans.

Neal slipped the sweater over his sleep shirt. It was cold in the room. As he dressed, he tried to remember what had happened the previous day. After the patient died, Klaus was convinced Neal didn't have to worry about being subjected to any procedures. Neal had finished the Da Vinci. In the afternoon they'd discussed future projects.

Yesterday for the first time, Neal had felt more like himself, but that brought a different set of issues. Which of his recollections were real? Had Sara actually visited him or was that only a dream? The woman didn't look like her. Neal had spent the past several days imagining she was the face of the painting. He must have done the same thing with a servant. Or the entire episode could have been another in the series of hallucinations which only stopped yesterday. No one knew where he was. No one was coming to rescue him. He'd have to escape on his own.

Throughout the day, there'd been a wariness in Klaus's expression he hadn't noticed before. Klaus left for only a couple of brief periods. Neal had the unsettling impression Klaus was shielding him.

Then dinner. Immediately afterward, Penfold had arrived with the orderly. He claimed the shot was only a mild sedative, but a few minutes later, Neal collapsed on the sofa, his consciousness ripped away.

As Neal tied the laces of his running shoes, Klaus said, "I'll fetch your coat."

When he stood up, Klaus helped him slip on the parka, muttering in his ear, "I'm breaking you out. Do exactly what I say."

Neal gave no indication he'd heard anything, but it was a jolt of triple espresso through his body.

The door swung open. A woman walked in with two men. Neal recognized her at Python. He froze in place, the jackhammer resuming its relentless pounding.

"We haven't met, Neal, and it's past time we did since you've been enjoying my hospitality." Her voice was a low-pitched contralto. British accent with a slight overtone which reminded him of Bianka's accent.

"And you are?" he asked, mentally patting himself on the back that he'd remembered he wasn't supposed to know who she was.

"You may call me Anya," she said.

"Will you be joining us for breakfast? I'll ring the steward for another plate."

Her smile was cold. "Another time, perhaps. Klaus, a word, please." She beckoned toward the open door.

"My pleasure, chérie," Klaus said. As he passed Neal, he pressed the thumb of his left hand against his ring finger, the signal to prepare for an audible.

Was this Klaus's strategy? Leaving Neal to duke it out with two guys who ate tires for breakfast? Bad plan.

Before they reached the door, the lights went out. With the sun not yet up, the room was plunged once more in darkness. Before Neal could react, the guards seized him by the arms.

Anya sighed. "This happens all too frequently in the mountains. Neal, your breakfast may be delayed. My men will keep you safe till the generator kicks in."

 _That's okay. I'll just see my way out._ Despite the pain in his head, things were looking up.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

In the cold pre-dawn hours, Peter, Henry, Mozzie, and Sara climbed into the back of a grocery delivery truck along with ten elite members of the Hungarian police. Their destination was Count Lamberg's estate. Behind them was a van, also bristling with agents and equipment. Miklos and three other agents were riding in a police car. Stationed further back were armored vehicles with support personnel for what was certain to be a large haul of prisoners and the likelihood of casualties.

The plan was to first blind and muzzle the castle then overpower it with agents. The team had stayed the previous night at a small town a couple of hours away—far enough that any Ydrus operative wouldn't be suspicious of their presence. Once darkness fell, Mozzie met them at the hotel. He'd instructed the commandoes on the best route to sneak onto the property. The advance contingent left a few hours before Peter. Their mission was to lock down the vehicles and any helicopters. They'd then take out the emergency generator and cell tower at a pre-arranged time. They were all relying on two-way radios to communicate. Peter carried two: one to communicate with Miklos, the other for Mozzie. Once the delivery truck arrived at the security gate, upon Peter's signal the electricity would be cut off.

Based on Sara and Mozzie's scouting reports, the key areas were the basement storage vaults, Neal's chamber, and the offices and suites on the upper floors. Booby traps were their greatest fear. Key areas could have been rigged with explosives. By shutting off the electricity, they hoped to prevent any detonations as well as attempts to scrub the computers.

They had one chance to secure the personnel and records, and they were going to make it count.

The police were divided into teams with one assigned for each floor. Wearing riot gear they'd make use of Tasers and tear gas to neutralize the opposition. The forces had been given photos of Neal, Count Lamberg, Rolf, Klaus, Python, and Penfold. Additional personnel had been allocated to patrol the perimeter and prevent any escapes.

Mozzie and Sara were assigned to assist with the storerooms in the basement. Peter had introduced Mozzie as an expert on safecracking who worked with them as a consultant. Mozzie was embracing his role as Resistance fighter. He'd smudged camouflage paint over his face and had donned the dark twill garb and stocking cap of a black ops fighter. Initially, Peter had been unsure how cooperative Mozzie would be in working with the Hungarian police, but he needn't have worried. In his eyes, they were all fellow freedom fighters.

They were all continuing to wear their disguises. If any of the key players eluded capture or if Neal had been transferred to a different location, it was vital that the masquerade continue.

Peter had no window to look out as they rode up the mountain road. He was relying on the driver informing them how close they were. No one talked much during the trip. The engine noise made communication difficult, and everyone already knew their role.

When the truck rumbled to a stop at the security gate, Peter took a breath and nodded at Henry. _Game on_.

While the driver talked with the guard, Peter pressed the signal for the electricity to be cut. Simultaneously, agents who'd been hiding in the woods overwhelmed the guard. He didn't stand a chance, and he'd have no way to communicate with the castle that they were now under siege.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal waited anxiously for Klaus and Anya to return. What if Klaus weren't with her? Penfold was coming. Klaus had told him to flee. Now was the time to dream up what would undoubtedly be a spectacular escape plan once he marshaled his muzzy-headed thoughts into action. The guards were talking among themselves. One of them kept a gun jabbed against his ribs.

 _Note to self: learn Hungarian as well as every other language. Maybe Arkham Neal the linguist could help. In the meantime, when nothing else works, fake puking._

Neal grabbed his stomach and gave a dry heave, bending over double. He staggered up and headed for the bathroom. Once inside, he'd have time to think of his brilliant scheme.

But that plan was foiled when Klaus reappeared at the doorway, holding a flashlight. He barked some command at the guards and they raced out of the room.

As soon as they left, he darted over to Neal. "I don't know what's going on but this is our chance. There's a secret passage leading from Rolf's office. Turn left and enter the third door on your left. That's his office. The opening is in the wall behind his desk. I'll claim you overpowered me."

"Won't Rolf stop me?"

Klaus shook his head. "He's in the basement. I'll make sure he doesn't interfere."

"Where does the passage lead?"

"To a tunnel which terminates in a wooded trail leading south down the mountain. You'll exit about fifty meters outside the castle." Klaus grabbed Neal's jacket from the bed and helped him into it. "You'll need this. It may be an hour or so before I get away. Stay close to the exit. I'll find you."

"Where do you think you're going?"

They spun around to see a furious Python in the doorway. Her gun was aimed squarely at Neal. "You did this!"

Time stuttered into slow motion as Neal watched her finger squeeze the trigger.

"Stop!" Klaus roared and tackled her to the ground. As they struggled for the gun, he shouted, "Run!"

And leave Klaus to face her alone? While Neal wavered, the gun went off. Both Klaus and Python dropped to the ground, blood splattered on both of them. Klaus's flashlight had fallen to the floor. The beam spotlighted the carnage.

Neal crouched beside them, at first uncertain who'd been shot, his gut twisting into a vicious knot. Python stared at him with dead eyes, blood blossoming over her white blouse.

A bright light shone in his face. "Freeze!"

Peter's voice? Here? Neal was blinded by the glare. He must be hallucinating again. Klaus froze, looking shocked as well.

"Lay down your gun, now! Klaus Mansfeld, you're under arrest."

This time, there was no mistaking that deep voice. Neal felt himself grow weak with relief.

"Neal, move toward me. I'm to your left."

That sounded like Henry. Neal's doubts resurfaced. How could any of this be real? Had there been a third trigger? Neal fixed his eyes on Klaus, illuminated starkly in the beam of the flashlights.

"Go to him," Klaus murmured in German then dropped his weapon. "I surrender," he said in English.

Neal slid toward Henry's voice as someone lunged forward and slung an arm around him, pulling him away from the blood.

"It's me, kiddo. Ignore the wig." Henry's arms pulled him close. Neal clung to him as men surrounded Klaus and handcuffed him. Once the light was no longer in his eyes, he could make out Henry's and yes, it was Peter. He'd seen those disguises, teased them about them. Neal's head spun. Dizzy with relief, he found himself panting and unable to speak.

"Can you stand?" Peter asked. Without waiting for an answer, he got on one side and told Henry, "Help me get him up. We need to get him out of the room," he added, slanting a quick glance at the body on the floor.

Neal willed himself not to look at her. "I'm okay," he muttered but he could have held onto the reality of their arms forever. "Did you catch Rolf?"

"I don't know," Henry said and looked toward Peter.

"There's a secret passage in the wall behind his desk." Neal repeated what Klaus had told him, Peter listened while using a radio device.

"We'll get you to a safe place first," Henry insisted.

"Sara and I can manage that," Mozzie said, rushing in with the housekeeper Neal had seen a couple of days ago. Was that really Sara? She hadn't been a dream, after all? Unless he was dreaming now . . . Neal stopped trying to figure it out. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up.

"The monitoring room next door has been cleared," Sara suggested. "Mozzie and I'll stay there with Neal."

Neal gripped Henry's arm. "Don't let Peter go alone."

Henry wavered. "I'm not leaving you, kiddo."

"I'm not going anywhere. Rolf is. Don't let him escape."

"We won't," Peter assured him. With that, he and Henry took off. Mozzie talked with two members of the police who appeared to be Neal's designated bodyguards. Now that the adrenaline had vanished, the effects of the drug were kicking back in, making it difficult for Neal to respond. They hustled him into an adjoining room before he was aware of what was happening.

The sun was rising. As daylight began to slant through the windows, the lack of power was no longer an issue. The room where they took him must have been the surveillance station as one wall was filled with display monitors. Neal sank into a desk chair. Sara brought over another chair and insisted he put his legs up.

"I'm going to keep watch outside," Mozzie said. "Sara, take care of Professor Plum." Mozzie closed the door behind him.

Dazed, Neal watched him depart then turned to Sara. "He knows?"

She nodded as she pulled up a chair to sit next to him. "He figured it out. He knows about Alicia and Matthew, too. Do you mind?"

"No, I want the world to know." He saw a glint of gold at her neck and reached for it. She extracted the necklace from her sweater so he could see the pendant. It was the bird he'd given her. "Did you come to see me? I thought I might have dreamed it."

She stripped off her wig and shook out her copper hair. "I was in your room on Tuesday. It broke my heart to have to leave you." She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.

Neal stiffened at first. He'd pretended for so long first with Bianka then with the painting that they were Sara. Now she was here. A part of him still worried she wasn't real. But her lips were soft and inviting. He relaxed, not attempting to make sense of what was happening. This was the only reality that mattered.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter found the entrance to the tunnel behind Rolf's desk just as Neal had described. One of the wood panels in the wainscoting concealed the entrance. Someone had used it in a hurry. The panel hadn't been fully secured. While a team guarded the opening in the office, Peter and Henry sprinted outside, accompanied by Miklos and two other detectives. Before leaving, Peter took only a second to glance at the painting of _The Astronomer_ on the wall. There'd be plenty of time to scrutinize Azathoth's lair after he was captured.

"This has to be the trail," Henry pointed out, speaking in a whisper. "Neal said it led into the woods north of the castle."

"How far away from the building was the exit?" Miklos asked.

"About fifty meters," Peter said. Miklos translated the information to the agents who'd accompanied them.

The trail was dense with undergrowth on both sides. As they neared the approximate location, they searched in silence. If Rolf had used the tunnel he could remain hidden inside until he thought the coast was clear. Peter doubted he'd already fled, but the possibility couldn't be overlooked. The perimeter of the estate was blanketed with personnel. Even with his knowledge of the terrain, Rolf would have difficulty escaping their net.

It was a frosty morning in the mountains. The thick carpet of dead leaves crackled underneath their boots despite their efforts to maintain silence. A manhole lid hidden in the groundcover would be difficult to spot.

Henry grabbed Peter's arm, but he'd heard it too—the distinct scrape of a heavy metal object on the path several feet ahead. Everyone sprinted forward to hide behind fir trees.

About four feet off the path, a metal plate was slowly being raised. First a head, then shoulders emerged.

No one moved till Rolf hoisted himself out of the tunnel and took a step forward.

"Freeze!" Peter ordered as Miklos barked a command in Hungarian. Before Rolf could react, they swarmed in on him and it was over. Azathoth, the anonymous cybercriminal who'd bedeviled them for a year, was no more. Rolf Mansfeld, ex-mathematics professor, would soon be wearing a prison jumpsuit.

Rolf looked bewildered at Peter in his disguise. Did he recognize Peter's voice? He'd know soon enough who'd arrested him.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Apprehended in the raid were both brothers, Erasmus Penfold, and over thirty Ydrus operatives and staff. The doctor had been discovered hiding underneath a lab table on the fourth floor. It was unclear how many of the staff were engaged in Ydrus activities, but everyone was taken in for questioning. There was a minimum of bloodshed. Aside from Anya, the only injuries were relatively minor gunshot wounds. Peter had relayed the word to New York as soon as Neal was rescued. By now, Jacek, Marta, and Bianka should have been taken into custody.

There was no sign of Count Lambert. When Miklos quizzed the household about him, he was informed the count was away on an extended trip. More revealing was a closet in Rolf's suite which contained prosthetics, a wig, and several old-fashioned suits. Peter suspected Rolf disguised himself as Lambert when an appearance was necessary. The real count was likely dead, his body buried somewhere in the surrounding forest.

By the time Peter and Henry returned to Neal, he'd already been examined by medics.

"They said I'm fine," he reported, brushing aside their concern in typical Neal fashion. As aggravating as it was, it was also reassuring to see him behave as he would normally. And, just like before, no one believed him.

Henry turned to Sara. "Is that true?" he demanded.

"More or less," she hedged. "Neal's been medicated for a week with unknown drugs, but his vitals are good." She smiled at him. "Best not to drive a sports car for a little while longer."

Peter didn't press. He was grateful that Neal looked able to travel. Once back in New York, he'd need to undergo a thorough physical and be cleared by Doc Jacob before he could return to work. For the moment, their account of how Rolf was captured was the best medicine they could give him.

Neal appeared to follow the details without any issue. This was Peter's first chance to see him in good light, and physically he appeared in reasonable shape. His movements were, by Neal's standards, slow and tenuous. It was clear the drug or the ordeal or a combination of the two was still acting on him.

"Klaus saved my life," Neal said quietly. "Anya had ordered Penfold to perform some kind of procedure on me, but I don't know the details of what was planned. This morning, just before you arrived, Klaus was going to help me escape. Then Python showed up. She would have killed me if Klaus hadn't stopped her."

"And that will be taken into account," Peter assured him. "The suspects are being taken to Budapest for processing."

"The Da Vinci on the easel in my room . . . can I keep it?"

Peter hesitated, not at all sure it was healthy to have a reminder of the ordeal.

"Please," Neal added. "It's important."

"Why's that?" Henry asked.

"It's hard to explain," Neal said, raking his hand through his hair.

"Give it a try," Henry urged.

"She helped me survive when I didn't think anyone knew where I was."

Neal often bonded with paintings he was working on. Had this one become part of his coping mechanism? "I'll speak with Miklos about it," Peter assured him. "I doubt there'll be any problem."

"Thanks," Neal said gratefully. "Before we leave, I'd like to see the house, the paintings that were recovered. Up to now, I've only been in my room and a couple of hallways."

"The electricity's back on," Henry said. "If you feel up to it, let's take a tour now."

Peter seconded the idea, not only because he wanted to see the place too, but the tour would give him a chance to assess Neal's condition.

The castle was four levels plus a basement. An annex building provided additional living quarters. They spent the least amount of time in Penfold's research area. That was at Neal's wish, but Peter had already made arrangements with Miklos that all the files would be shared with the Bureau. Neal explained how close an escape he'd had from being reprogrammed. If a patient hadn't died, he would have undergone the procedure the preceding day. Peter didn't want to think what his condition would have been like.

Peter was most intrigued by Rolf's office. The painting of _The Astronomer_ hung prominently on one wall with an armillary sphere and other Renaissance instruments displayed underneath. It was here that Rolf had devised his strategy. Had he read Diana's stories from that computer? The layout of the office, as well as every other room in the castle, would be thoroughly photographed and documented before anything was removed.

The ground floor held the public rooms for show purposes. Sara was their guide in the basement where another treasure trove awaited them. Many of the missing art masterpieces were held in a vault-like facility, including the Hilliard miniature which had been stolen last summer as well as several of the paintings taken from the Getty Museum.

John Hobhouse joined them as they were making the tour. He and another Interpol agent would assist the Hungarians with the art. They found Mozzie perusing the books in the library. He probably would have been searching Rolf's office but it was already sealed by the police. Peter was sorely tempted to have Mozzie frisked before leaving the estate, but this time he'd get a pass.

Henry kept Neal from lingering in any one room too long. Hobhouse and the Hungarians would be in charge of inventorying the contents.

"Before we leave, there's one more area you need to see," Neal insisted. He led them to the fourth floor where the medical lab was. But rather than going inside, he opened a small door which led to a porch overlooking the roof of the castle. The narrow parapet was barely large enough for all of them to stand outside, and strong wind gusts made the air frigid. Peter and Henry shielded Neal but he didn't appear to feel the cold. Sara remained at the entrance to give them more room.

"Klaus brought me here every morning," Neal said, surveying the vista of mountains around him. "Ostensibly it was to overcome my fear of heights. It was the only place we could talk without fear of being recorded. The Whistler painting in my room acted as another trigger. Did you know that?"

"We feared it was the case," Henry said quietly, keeping a firm grip on him.

Neal nodded shakily. "It called up memories of me attempting to steal a painting and being rescued by Bianka and Sandor. But Klaus told me the truth. He told me that Bianka was working all along for Ydrus. Anya is . . . was her sister. He said that you were okay, that I'd be able to return to New York, that they were leaving Ydrus. This is where he warned me about Penfold."

"Let's go inside," Peter said firmly. "Even for a polar bear like me, it's too cold." Neal's shakiness was increasing by the moment.

Henry gripped Neal's upper arm. "It's time to go home, kiddo."

* * *

 _Notes: As the chapter ends, Neal's been rescued and the Mansfelds are in handcuffs. You'll get a few clues about what the next weeks will hold for Neal and his friends in the final chapter, coming next week. Predicting Klaus and Rolfs future is a particular challenge. They've defied death. Now will they quietly fade away? I wrote about what may happen to Klaus for the blog this week. The post is called Klaus at the Crossroads._

 _Penna wrapped up the final installment in her series on "Not another story about straight white men." This third part is on LGBTQ issues. We're proud we've been able to increase the diversity of the cast and hope to add to it in future stories. Henry and Eric had a particular set of challenges in this chapter. You may recall that way back in Chapter 3, Angela had some ideas on how to give them a nudge. You'll find out what she and Neal came up with next week._

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Musicians board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	9. Cat and Dragon

**Chapter 9: Cat and Dragon**

 **New York City. October 21, 2005. Friday evening.**

Henry opened the beveled-glass front door to June's mansion. "Home, sweet home. Man, does this look good."

He wouldn't get any arguments from Neal. Although he'd been back in New York for close to twenty-four hours, most of the time had been spent in a seemingly endless round of doctor visits. He'd slept through most of the flight from Budapest. Henry sat beside him in the first-class cabin. A few times, Neal woke up in a cold sweat, confused about where he was, but Henry was there to reassure him. Sara and Mozzie were also on board. Peter elected to stay behind for an extra day to help coordinate the inventory and deposition of Ydrus evidence.

After catching a few hours of dreamless sleep in his own bed, Neal was shuttled first to Christie then to Doc Jacob. The results were positive enough to allay even Henry's fears. Christie confirmed that physically he no longer displayed symptoms of being drugged. As to what it was he'd been given, the results of the blood work wouldn't be available for a week. Christie would also receive a report from the Hungarians about what drugs had been found in the lab.

While Neal was undergoing tests at the hospital, Henry left to pick up some clothes and stop briefly at his office. Otherwise, he appeared determined to provide round-the-clock security service. Even though the threat was over, everyone except Neal fretted about lingering psychological effects. He wasn't. He'd gone through it before. His disorientation was nothing compared to what he'd experienced after Los Angeles.

Jacob cleared him to return to work on Monday while offering future sessions as Neal wished. His was the first known case of a dual trigger being used with virtual reality manipulation, and Jacob couldn't wait to get his hands on the evidence from Penfold's lab. Unlike the first trigger, Neal knew the memories were fake from the outset. They'd already faded significantly by the time he saw Jacob.

June was still in Chicago. She'd given the staff the weekend off, and the house was quiet when he and Henry finally returned home late in the day on Friday. They headed straight upstairs to the loft. Familiar surroundings. Routine. That's what everyone advised.

Neal knew better than to think he could immediately fall back into feeling normal. He'd been conning Bianka, Adler, and Ydrus for close to four months. It felt strange that he didn't need to pretend to be someone he wasn't. Jacob had placed him on restricted duty with no undercover work for a minimum of three weeks.

Henry opened the door to the fridge. "I see Mozzie has supplied you with a plentiful stock of honey wine. You want it or something else?" He reached for a beer for himself.

"Wine will be fine," Neal said, sighing with relief as he sprawled onto the couch. He predicted one glass and he'd be out like a light, but before that happened, there was something he needed to find out. "I'll be boring company. Mozzie's offered to stay with me. Don't you want to head back home?"

Henry flopped into the armchair next to the couch. "Plenty of time for that later. Humor me."

"Have you spoken with Eric?"

"Yeah, I called him when I stopped by my loft."

"How is he?"

Neal tried to keep his tone casual but something in his expression must have alerted Henry because he immediately straightened and shot him a sharp look. "Who told you?"

"Travis. I called the office while waiting to see Christie. Why didn't you tell me about the photos?"

"I planned to, eventually. You had enough to absorb. Eric understands. Travis spoke with him and shared as much as he could. My resemblance to Dean threw him for quite a loop." Henry gave a small smile. "Eric wished he could have met him, but my double left late last night. Sam needed his help on some job."

"Travis told me. A werewolf was causing problems in Ohio. I'm looking forward to seeing you and Dean together as well." Neal paused to take a sip of wine. "Isn't Eric leaving on a trip tomorrow?"

"Yeah, he'll be gone for a week. I know where you're going with this. There'll be plenty of time for us to reconnect when he returns. Eric understands that you're the number one priority right now."

Henry didn't appear to realize how guilty his assessment made Neal feel, but this wasn't the time to object. "I talked with Angela. She's coming over for breakfast tomorrow before reporting for work at the Emporium."

Henry fell in with the suggestion, little realizing what was in store for him.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Neal!"

When Neal answered the doorbell early the next morning, Angela dropped her bags and rushed forward with a squeal, wrapping her arms around him. She'd no sooner released him, then she repeated the maneuver with Henry.

"I hope I didn't wake you up?" she asked.

"I'm still on Hungarian time," Neal confessed. "Cratered at six last night. Twelve hours should be enough for anyone."

"You get dispensation for a few more days." She took a breath and scanned both their faces. "It's over now?"

Neal nodded. "Hard as it to believe, it really is. All the bad guys are locked up."

"So our lives can return to normal?"

"Absolutely," Henry assured her.

Did he appreciate the extent of Angela's grin at his words? He was falling right into her trap.

"Where would you like breakfast?" Neal asked. "The house is ours for the day. I can offer you immediate seating on the upstairs terrace or in the dining room."

"Let's make a picnic of it outside. You didn't prepare anything, I hope?"

"Not me," Neal assured her. "I followed your instructions to the letter."

"Good, because I stopped off at the Emporium and loaded up with the makings for a Hawaiian breakfast."

"What did you bring?" Henry asked, sniffing the bags.

"Malasadas, Kona coffee, and POGs. What more could you want? And, yes, Henry, some of the malasadas are chocolate."

"I know malasadas are donuts," Henry said, "but what's a POG?"

"It's beverage made from passionfruit, orange, and guava. If you drink enough of it, you won't feel as guilty for the malasadas."

Minutes later, on the terrace, sprawled around a wrought iron table with the Manhattan skyline beckoning around them, Neal truly felt he was back in the clouds.

The previous evening, he'd fallen asleep on the couch shortly after returning home. Henry roused him at some point to move to the bed. He'd slept the night through, only waking once. He'd noticed Henry sleeping on the couch and thought vaguely about telling him to move down to a guestroom where he could have a real bed, but he knew Henry wouldn't have agreed. He was worried about nightmares, but Neal had finally awoken from one when they freed him.

Now he was ready to resume his life. Henry needed to do the same.

"Michael sends his best," Angela said.

"Manhattan Geeks keeping him busy?" Henry asked.

"And then some, but not too busy to sign the card." She pulled out the birthday card Neal had made for Eric. It seemed a lifetime ago, but it had actually been only a couple of weeks. Neal had made a pen-and-ink drawing with color washes showing Angela, Michael, him, and Eric standing next to one of the props Eric had made for last month's Renaissance Festival. Neal had also included Henry in the group even though he'd been away on a business trip. Angela had suggested the theme and text—wishing Eric another happy year of helping her with props. When Neal teased her about it, she said Eric would love the message. It demonstrated that he was now part of the family.

Henry stared at the card, speechless.

"You probably have another card," Neal said, easing the expected pain. "But we thought you could sign ours, too."

"When you see Eric, tell him Michael already has a cake design in mind," Angela said, driving home the birthday message. Michael's hobby was baking cakes, and he particularly enjoyed making theme cakes. "This cake will be the best one ever. He's making a model of the set we used for _The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse_."

Henry swiped a hand over his mouth and grimaced.

"What's the matter?" Angela asked. "You will be seeing Eric, won't you?"

"Help me out, guys. How badly did I blow it? When is his birthday?"

Angela had been right. Henry, the man who vetted their dates, hadn't done the same for himself. "Don't worry," Neal assured him. "You still have time. It's on the twenty-eighth. That trip he's taking is his way of celebrating. He works for a week with Habitat for Humanity, picking a different country in Central America each year. This year it's Guatemala."

"And I didn't even ask—"

"Not your fault," Neal said quickly. "It's mine. I've been monopolizing you, but that stops now."

Angela's expression grew serious. "I know what happened with that woman, Henry. You two need a fresh start. You've been here for both of us and Eric's trip is our chance to do something for you. You're going with him to Guatemala."

"But I can't leave Neal now!" he protested.

"Yes, you can," Neal said firmly. "You don't have to worry about me being alone. Peter came home yesterday. He and El are coming over later this morning. Mozzie's joining us as well and will stay the night. June returns tomorrow. I really will be fine."

"Neal and I've been working on this for weeks," Angela said. "You can't turn us down. I've already discussed it with Radha and Sofia at Win-Win. Noelle's assured me you're due comp time after your trip to Asia and whatever you did in Hungary."

"Angela made the final arrangements last week," Neal added. "Habitat for Humanity knows you're coming. The only one who'll be surprised is Eric."

"If you hurry, you'll have time to pack," Angela said, reaching into her bag and pulling out an envelope. "This contains your itinerary and tickets. Noelle helped me use some of your frequent flyer miles for them. Your flight leaves this afternoon. It's the same flight Eric's on, but he knows nothing about our scheme. Noelle and I bumped up his reservation because we knew you'd want to fly first class. When you see him at the airport, you can call it part of the birthday surprise."

For once they had him. Henry looked completely buffaloed . . . and happy. "I don't know what to say."

"You better say ¡Hasta la vista! if you hope to get ready in time," Neal said, standing up and giving him a push. "We'll box up your breakfast supplies. You can eat while you pack."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"It's fortunate you were able to persuade Henry to leave," Mozzie said. "How would you have explained Sara coming over?"

"That might have rung the death knell to the Clueless con," Neal admitted. Sara was due to arrive any minute. He and Mozzie were waiting in June's living room at the end of a day which had been filled with friends and familiarity.

"You can't end the con now! I'm just getting started. You wouldn't want to deprive the matchmakers of the entertainment they'd receive by attempting wits with me."

Sara had told Neal how Mozzie unmasked their scheme. His participation could add a new dimension. But the most important benefit from Neal's perspective was that Mozzie and Sara would have a chance to become even closer. "Sara told me you're quite content with your character of Reverend Green."

"Pastor of the Chapel of Love? It's the natural role."

When the doorbell rang, Mozzie leaped up first. "Allow me." A minute later, he strolled in arm-and-arm with Sara. "I hope you don't mind if I leave you two alone."

 _Thank you, Reverend Green!_

"Janet has tickets to the Broadway show _Wicked,_ " he added. "It may provide inspiration for our own machinations. Mozzie turned to Sara. "Gypsy, would it be too much of an imposition to ask you to spend the evening with Neal?"

She sighed theatrically. "I'm glad to make the sacrifice."

"Excellent. If you decide to spend the night, you needn't bother about putting a sock on the door. I'll call before I return." He gave an exaggerated wink and headed off, chuckling all the way.

Neal grinned. "I feel like a teenager with our parents out of town. Whatever will we find to do to entertain ourselves?"

"You can leave that to me," Sara said, giving him a smile which left no question their minds were thinking alike.

A full moon shone over the terrace when they went upstairs to the loft. This was the first time for him to be hosting her in his rooms since they'd been a couple. He'd no sooner opened the door into his loft than she was in his arms.

Sara had made him promise not to cook, and he'd kept his word, but that didn't prevent him from planning a special evening. The table was lit with candles. There were fresh flowers. He'd bought pate, cheese, and bread, and had prepared a composed salad.

But dinner could wait.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Somewhere along the line they'd eaten some of the food Neal had supplied, but mainly they feasted on each other. As the night lengthened, they lingered over the last of the wine in bed. Sara was wearing one of his pajama tops. The midnight-blue silk did little to conceal her curves. He had the bottoms on. They were hidden from the world in the seclusion of his loft. Nothing outside its four walls seemed very important.

Sara raised her glass to his Da Vinci painting which was now displayed on an easel in the corner by the couch. "Your painting is beautiful. She looks like she was meant to be there. But won't she serve as a reminder of what you endured?"

He draped his arm over her shoulders and fingered a lock of copper hair. "In my mind, you were the one I was painting. You were what kept me sane. I was able to ignore the flashing images by shrinking my world to where it was just you and me in our own inner space."

She put her glass down and wrapped her arms tightly around him. "Then I want you to always keep her near at hand. She'll be my proxy when I'm not here."

Neal had never noticed so clearly the golden highlights in her eyes. They pulled him inside her, dissolving the fear and confusion. Thoughts of the past week unraveled and disappeared. His world turned to emerald and gold.

When he awoke the next morning and found her nestled next to him, the warmth of her body transported him once more into a shimmering haze. He couldn't remember having any dreams during the night, and he never wanted to dream again. Sara was real. She was beside him. He was home.

Mozzie didn't call till much later in the morning when they were eating croissants Sara. Neal appreciated that he didn't come over. June was due back in the early afternoon. They only had a few hours left to be alone.

Sara stood up and brought over the coffee pot. "Do you still feel like someone's monitoring you?"

"Getting over it will take a while," he admitted, holding up his mug. "I scoured the loft yesterday just to check there are no bugs." He smiled. "And now I've learned there's a new woman in my life. Tell me more about Gypsy Walters."

"My alias in Hungary? Gypsy is also the name of my sister's plush giraffe."

"The one you have in your bedroom? I knew she belonged to Emily. Who named her?"

"She did," Sara said, sitting back down. "She loved giraffes. She had a silver giraffe pendant she never took off. Wherever she is, I bet she's wearing it." Sara glanced over at the worn plush dog in his bookcase. "Gypsy should meet your puppy. Is that yours or June's?"

"Mine, and since we're sharing secrets, here's a big one. That dog used to belong to Henry. He gave it to me when I was three. That was shortly before I went away."

"Went away? You mean you moved to another city?"

Neal nodded. "But it's more complicated than that. I grew up in WITSEC. My mother and I were given new identities and relocated when I was three. I grew up as Danny Brooks. All ties with our relatives were severed. She's still under the protective custody of WITSEC."

"I knew there was something mysterious about your past. Growing up under WITSEC must have been very difficult."

"It wasn't as bad as you might think. I wasn't aware of the real situation for many years."

"What about your father?"

He knew that question was coming and was ready for it. "He's the reason we were in WITSEC. He was a dirty cop. I haven't seen him since we entered the program. I assume he's still alive but we were ordered to never look for him. When I joined the FBI, the marshals fabricated a ten-year history for me to satisfy the Bureau. I was also warned not to use FBI resources to locate him. It'd be dangerous for everyone involved."

"But you couldn't have been in the program during those years you were on the road with Henry or in Europe afterward?"

"I left the program my senior year when I was told the truth about my dad. Up to then, I believed he'd died a hero." Neal shoved a hand through his hair as old memories resurfaced. "I didn't handle it well. Ran away from home. That's why I didn't graduate from high school."

"Let's talk about it another time," Sara suggested, reaching over to clasp his hand. "You're in recovery mode from Hungary. You shouldn't have to deal with anything else."

He didn't want to admit it, but Sara was right. This wasn't the moment to discuss his father. His thoughts were too confused just like with Klaus. Jacob had advised against attempting to process his emotions for a while and when he eventually felt up to it, Jacob offered to help. "Here's the part relating to Henry. That's much more straightforward. When I fled, I made a real hash of the situation." He forced out a chuckle. "I crashed my car into a lake and wound up in the hospital with pneumonia. By then, I'd cast aside Danny Brooks and was using Neal, the name I'd been given at birth, and Mom's maiden name. I left the hospital before I'd fully recovered and took a train to Chicago. At about the same time, Henry was looking for me, hoping we could reconnect. He found me in Chicago, got me well again, then delayed getting his degree to go on the road with me."

Neal retrieved the pooch from the bookcase.

"I named the dog Henry when I was a toddler, but I forgot who the real Henry was." He turned to Sara. "This fellow was the only link I had to my cousin for fifteen years. When we reunited, Henry told me about my other relatives, but the only one I met was his father till after I'd joined the FBI. Henry's been watching over me since I was 18. The one break was when Robert blackmailed me to stay away. That's when I fled to Europe. When I returned to the States, Henry's protective instincts were redoubled."

"He must feel extra responsibility because of his father's actions against you. It's understandable he's so concerned about who you date."

"Now that Rolf and Klaus are captured, I hope he can relax and focus on his own life."

"I doubt Henry's ready to lay down his superhero cape," she predicted and smiled. "That reminds me. Mozzie told me about your idea for Henry in Diana's stories. It's the perfect role."

Neal grinned. "I'd like to see him pretend that he doesn't read them now. I also have progress to report on the love front." He told her about the photos and Angela's project to salvage Henry's relationship with Eric.

"I hadn't heard about Anya. I'm glad you could convince Henry to leave. He and Eric need to heal, too. So, what do you recommend, Professor Plum? Should we come out of the closet?"

"I've been ready for over a month. But we should wait till they return from their trip. And now that Mozzie's involved, he wants to make a game of it."

"He won't be the only one who'll be disappointed if we come out too soon," Sara said. "Henry and El have devised an elaborate scheme for Arkham Neal and Sara. If we reveal ourselves now, they may feel frustrated."

"What are you saying? That we should let ourselves pretend to be swayed by the stories?"

She placed her arms on the table, leaned forward, and gave a sly smile. "That's one possibility. I'm sure our fellow conspirator would like to propose additional ones."

He considered for a moment, his mind flitting among options. Peter wouldn't let him do any field work for weeks. He'd need to have something to work on. "Do you know what the matchmakers have in mind?"

"Mozzie gave me a clue. He suggested I watch _The Spy Who Loved Me_."

"Is the clue the location? Do we get to prowl among Egyptian ruins in evening clothes?"

"I wish I knew more. Mozzie is almost as reluctant to reveal spoilers as Diana. He'll probably grow even worse. He hopes she'll let him do more of the writing."

"Reason enough to have the stories continue. We could also let the matchmakers see hints that their strategy is working." He patted the plush dog. "That could be the best gift of all for Henry."

 **Federal Building. Tuesday morning.**

"What's your assessment?" Peter asked. "Am I crazy to be concerned about Neal's feelings toward Klaus?"

Tricia should know if he was off base. She'd spent a large part of the previous day with Neal, reviewing every detail he remembered from Hungary. At Neal's request, Peter took part in the debriefing, but he'd kept his comments to the minimum. He didn't want to place any constraints on Neal talking openly about the events.

Afterward, Peter consulted with Doc Jacob who assured him that Neal was recovering well. Neal had spent lengthy sessions with him on Friday and Saturday. The false memories were already fading and he wasn't having any difficulty in recognizing them for what they were.

Today's discussion was a follow-up. He'd met Tricia in her office on the Behavior Analysis Unit floor. Looking at the photos of her sons on her desk, he recognized he was stressing about Neal as if he were still a captive. Had he been worrying about Neal for so long, it was impossible to stop even when he wasn't in danger? Perhaps Neal wasn't the only one who needed to see Jacob.

She smiled. "It's natural you should have that reaction. Neal is concerned about it, too. He was the one who raised the issue of Stockholm syndrome. But Jacob doesn't think so, and I agree. Neal's anger toward Klaus has been tempered somewhat, and he wasn't expecting that to occur. But it's natural that he should feel some sense of gratitude. Klaus saved him from Python's attack."

"When you put it like that, I owe Klaus a debt of thanks, too. When I heard about his actions, it made me wonder how much of a role Diana's stories played. Did that image of Sornoth, the saber-toothed leopard, function as a trigger for Klaus?"

"That's my suspicion. We know very little about Klaus's relationship to Rolf. We hoped to separate Rolf from Ydrus, but the story plots may have worked equally well on Klaus. Rolf is twelve years older than his brother. The way he enjoyed manipulating Neal leads me to suspect he treated Klaus the same way. We've characterized Klaus as the aggressor, but from what Neal tells me, you could make the case for him being a victim as well. If the change in attitude is real, Klaus may not be fully aware of it."

"And now Klaus could harbor a subconscious resentment of Rolf." Peter stopped to consider the likelihood for a moment. Klaus confided in Neal that it was Rolf who'd instigated the partnership with Ydrus. He'd even intimated that Rolf wanted to break up his marriage to Chantal. "If we drove a wedge between those two, I'm glad. And I suppose if Neal wants to make Rolf the main villain, there's no harm."

Tricia's smile didn't extend to her eyes, but she didn't say anything.

"Anything wrong?" Peter demanded.

"It's probably nothing." She smiled ruefully. "Old habits. I'm so used to analyzing Azathoth's every action, I'll probably continue for quite a while. Do you find anything suspicious about the death of the Ydrus agent who was one of Penfold's patients?"

Peter nodded. "The timing raises a red flag, doesn't it? Just before Neal was due to undergo the procedure, a patient died. Klaus told him the drugs would be stopped, but they were resumed less than twenty-four hours later."

"Did Anya find out Klaus killed him?" she asked. "Was that why she stormed into Neal's room shortly before you launched the assault?"

"The leopard protecting his cub?" Peter paused to consider it. "He's killed before. He could have done it again. Hopefully the footage from the surveillance cameras will reveal the truth."

"Then there's Rolf . . . If he believes we poisoned his relationship with his brother"—she shrugged—"let's hope he stays locked up."

Tricia didn't dwell on the potential issues, and Peter wasn't about to either. On the plane home, he'd stewed over what lingering damage might have occurred to Neal from that virtual reality session in Los Angeles. No one knew anything about the second trigger until Neal saw the Whistler painting. Had something else been planted? Peter had gone so far as to talk to Jacob about it, seeking reassurance. But there was none. All Jacob could give was a pointed recommendation to stop torturing himself as long as Neal didn't display any symptoms. Good advice.

Hypothetical revenge scenarios were off the table as far as he was concerned. The long list of criminal charges should keep both brothers incarcerated for the rest of their lives. Simply sorting out the order with which crimes would be prosecuted was a monumental task. Interpol was working with the Department of Justice to streamline the process. Hungary was itching to press forward on kidnapping and murder charges. Based on the recovered artworks, Ydrus could be charged with crimes in the United States, England, France, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Italy, Spain, Czechoslovakia as well as Japan and China. And that was merely the art crime aspect. Separate entities would deal with the arms trafficking wing of the operation. The kidnapping charge was the most straightforward. For many of the art crimes, there was no direct linkage as to who had actually committed the theft. A clever lawyer could cast a lot of doubt and the Mansfelds would hire the best.

At the team briefing held later that morning, the topic continued to be discussed. "My hunch is that the crimes in the States will be prosecuted first," Jones said. "Neal's kidnapping was the most recent crime. There's clear evidence for the thefts at the Getty Museum and the National Gallery of Art. Plus, we have your testimony about the Mansfelds' attempt to steal the Van Gogh painting. Once they're convicted of those crimes, it will simplify the procedure for the others. And the Kolars and Bianka are already being held in the States."

When Bianka was interrogated on Friday, she'd been informed of the death of her sister. Her grief appeared genuine. She broke down and confessed to her role in the con. The sisters' last name was in reality Orosz. Their parents, members of a local crime gang, had died when Bianka was four. The sisters were then placed in a foster home and raised by the Kaldys. Anya was eleven years older. She'd assumed a different identity and continued a secret life in the underground. Bianka was cooperating with authorities. Peter suspected she'd get off with a relatively light sentence. He was glad Neal hadn't asked to speak with her. The false memories which had been planted about Bianka made any contact inadvisable.

"What's the latest on the Ydrus files?" Diana asked Travis. "Are Rolf's encrypted with the same code you'd deciphered earlier?"

Travis gave a dry chuckle. "When has he made it easy for us? The Ydrus files are manageable but the files on Rolf's hard drive are encrypted in a manner which will haunt Aidan and me for months." His eyes widened as he realized what he'd said. "Not literally, of course."

"I'm writing that down," Diana declared and picked up her pen. "Plot bunny from Travis: Azathoth casts a spell on a computer program. Hmm. Computers are at an early stage in 1975 . . . This will need a lot of work." She glanced at Neal. "Has it sunk in yet that Azathoth's not out there somewhere in the ether, spying on you?"

"Peering at me and Peter through the wormhole? It's starting to. But Azathoth has been looming over all of us for so long, it will take a while to adjust."

"That's true for all of us," she agreed, "which is why June and I decided what we need is a big party to celebrate."

"A speakeasy party!" Neal trumpeted. "Yes! You and your fellow members of the Arkham Round Table need to take a bow. Your stories played a huge role in bringing down Ydrus."

"This could be the final party," she warned.

"Just because Rolf and Klaus are captured, I hope that doesn't mean you're going to stop writing the adventures," Peter said.

She shrugged. "There's no compelling reason to continue."

"But how about your fans?" Jones protested. "Won't they be upset? You've got Arkham Neal infected with ymarite. Arkham Jones hasn't found a girlfriend yet. June needs a purpose for all those lava lamps she's accumulated."

"You sound like Mozzie," she snorted. "The next story is already written, but I haven't decided how much longer to continue them."

Diana's words weren't unexpected. Tricia had already discussed the issue with him. Peter, for one, would hate to see them stop, and he knew El felt the same way. "Those stories have been valuable for many reasons. But I'm aware of how time-consuming they are. How does the Round Table feel?"

"They don't want to stop," she admitted. "Mozzie's even offered to take up the writing mantle. And I must admit, I'm curious to see what he'd come up with."

Neal exchanged smiles with Peter. He knew Diana wouldn't be able to leave them alone. Hadn't she just collected a plot bunny from Travis?

At the close of the meeting, Neal lingered behind. "Will you still be able to take off this afternoon?"

"I even brought a change of clothes."

His mouth dropped. "You're planning to do it with me?"

Peter chuckled at his reaction. "I've done my share of climbing. Besides from the hints Diana gave me, this will be good practice for the next story." _And no way will I let you ascend that spire without me._

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal climbed out of the maintenance hatch onto the steeple of Riverside Church and smiled with delight at the panorama of the city spread below him. "I must be on top of the world!" He held out his arms on either side of him. "And look, not a twitch!"

Peter crawled outside and stood beside him on the narrow ledge. That reaction was the real reason he'd allowed Neal to make the attempt so soon. They both needed to know that Neal was no longer being influenced by Rolf's mind games.

"This is Manhattan's version of Mount Kilimanjaro. I guess we should thank Klaus for giving us a reason to be here." They had an eagle's eye view of the Columbia campus, the Hudson River, and Central Park.

"I never thought I'd hear you thank him for anything," Neal said, looking surprised. He paused for a moment. "Maybe someday he'll look back and be grateful for being captured."

Neal didn't sound as if he were joking. "I wouldn't count on receiving a thank you from prison," Peter cautioned, not wanting to react too strongly in case Neal was imagining a best case scenario to ease any feelings of remorse over the outcome.

"Klaus was spiraling downward. Trust me, I know the signs. He'll hate being locked up, but it will give him a chance to reevaluate his life. Perhaps he'll decide on a course correction when he gets out." Neal grew quiet and looked off in the distance.

Was he picturing Klaus standing beside him? It would be difficult not to think back on the mornings the two of them spent on the roof of the castle. Peter restrained himself from quizzing Neal. It was inevitable the memories were there. Peter's job was not to overreact to them.

"You don't think Klaus will stay in prison for long?" Peter asked instead.

Neal shrugged. "It's hard to keep a leopard confined." He turned to look at Peter and smiled. "But his lion cub is no longer. I'm setting that nickname free."

Peter breathed easier. That was the attitude he'd hoped for. "Should you pick a new nickname?"

He arched a brow. "You don't think I have enough aliases?"

"I was thinking of something more personal."

"You can forget about Baby Bear, too. He's scampered off with Lion Cub. I hope they'll be very happy together."

"How about Bear Cub?"

He heaved a long sigh. "If you're forcing me to pick something I think I'd go with Cheetah."

"Cheetah? No way." Peter regretted he'd raised the topic. "That's much too close to the Leopard."

He frowned. "Not at all. Cheetahs are graceful, and no one can match their speed. Yes, definitely Cheetah."

"It sounds too much like Cheater to me." Peter let his grizzly rumbles come through.

"That works, too. We cheated Ydrus. I've cheated death more than a few times. But in the meantime, here we are on top of the world. There's the dragon. You got the safety ropes." He glanced over at Peter. "And you're beside me. That's all I need. I know you weren't thrilled with me making the attempt so soon, but until I find out what Klaus hid behind the gargoyle, it's not truly over."

"And that's why I agreed. We both need closure." Clustered at the top of the steeple were steep projections resembling pyramids, each of which was surmounted by a gargoyle. On one of them perched a dragon. Its wings were folded back as it gazed serenely over its kingdom. Neal had liked dragons since he was a youngster. Klaus knew him well, but Peter knew him even better.

Peter had obtained permission from the church. They'd been able to climb inside the spire to the height of the pyramids. Small maintenance ledges were provided with hooks for safety ropes. It was no place for a person afraid of heights, but the risk was minimal. Neal and Peter worked as a team, snapping the grappling hooks in place and testing the rigging. They were in jeans and windbreakers, but wind gusts were minimal. It was a glorious day. Peter had even brought along a camera to record the event.

Neal scaled the pyramid alone. When he stood beside the gargoyle, did he feel dragon blood coursing inside him? Over the past year, he'd wrestled with virtual reality nightmares, old enemies bent on vengeance, vampires, and a twisted Greek goddess. Whatever lay in store for him in the future, he'd now be better able to face it.

"What did you find?" Peter asked when Neal returned to the safety ledge.

Neal showed him a small box. "It had been lashed securely under the base of the sculpture, protected from the elements. It was invisible unless you knew something was there."

"It could be booby trapped. Do you want to go inside to open it?"

Neal shook his head. "Klaus wouldn't have done that." He used a pocket knife to slit the waterproof wrap and pulled out a small jewelry box in cerulean tooled leather. Peter recorded his actions as he opened the box. Grinning with delight, he held it up for the camera. A small carnelian cat smirked at Peter from atop a gold ring.

"What's the significance?" Peter asked. _Beyond the fact that the cat could be a leopard in disguise._

"This is from the Third Intermediate Period. Now that, thanks to Arkham Files, you're an expert on Egyptian archaeology, you undoubtedly recognize the piece." Neal held it up to his eye. "This is a forgery I made for Klaus. He decided to keep it. He said the cat reminded him of a leopard. Chantal said it looked more like a house cat, what he liked to call her. I like to think there was a little of each in it, with more than a dash of cheetah." He looked at Peter. "Do you mind if I keep it?" He held out the ring on his outstretched palm.

"Not all the memories of Chantal and Klaus are bad." Peter folded Neal's fingers over the ring. "Go ahead and hold onto it. You found yourself. Chantal has. Perhaps Klaus will, too."

Neal smiled. "Thanks for understanding." He slipped it inside the case.

Peter took another look at the gargoyle. "I wasn't sure if I'd be able to drag you away from your new friend."

"That dragon's inside me now. I don't need to stay. How about you? How often do you have a chance to visit a dragon?"

Peter looked at him, startled.

"It's a golden opportunity. You shouldn't let Arkham Peter have all the fun."

"You'll record me?" Peter asked, handing him the camera. He could say he was doing it because Neal insisted, but he could feel that dragon blood rising in him, too.

Neal broke into a laugh. "Usually you'd give me grief about photographing you."

"It's a new era for us both."

* * *

 _Notes: Neal and Peter are on top of the world, and those hypotheticals Peter was stewing about seem quite remote. It's time to let them relax and enjoy the moment. I hope you are as well. Many thanks for joining me on this adventure and a grateful shout-out to Penna for once more providing awesome beta help._

 _Neal provided a few clues about the next Arkham Files story which will mark Henry's introduction into the world of the Cthulhu Mythos. The story is called Time Crystals. While Mozzie and Diana finish editing it, I'll publish the next story in the Crossed Lines series, Columbia Ghost Story. That party Diana mentioned will take place then._

 _First though, I'm taking a break to post stories in two other series. Adrift is part of the All Souls Trilogy fandom. I wrote about it for the blog this week: "Six-Crossed Knot: Backdrop to Adrift." Penna wrote a delightful post about the "Children in Caffrey Conversation."_

 _Upcoming lineup of stories:  
April 3: Adrift (Six-Crossed Knot series, All Souls Trilogy fandom) Note: The TV adaptation of the first novel, A Discovery of Witches, will be broadcast in the States starting on April 7 on AMC and BBC America. It makes a great introduction to the world of All Souls Trilogy.  
April 10: Thrushfield Hall (Tales from the Library series, The Invisible Library fandom)  
April 24: Columbia Ghost Story (Crossed Lines series of Caffrey Conversation)  
May 22: Time Crystals (Arkham Files series of Caffrey Conversation)  
In July I plan to start posting my next Caffrey Conversation story, Cloister of Secrets.  
_

 _Till next time!_

 _Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
Chapter Visuals and Music: The Musicians board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


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